


Paths in the Starlight

by plaidshirtjimkirk



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien Planet, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Character Study, Established Relationship, Five Year Mission, Hurt!Kirk, Hurt!Spock, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Insecurity, Italian Food, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Ridiculous Flirting, Self-Doubt, Sex Pollen, Slow Build, Space Husbands, epic sass, future tech and science, insecure!Spock, previous heartbreak, spirk, triumvirate banter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 91,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a field of white flowers suddenly splits the path he walks, Spock is forced to choose. Either decision will drastically affect Jim. And either way seems wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akaiii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiii/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a gift for my amazing friend, [Akai](http://spockshair.tumblr.com), who has shown me so much kindness and support throughout the years I've known her. It's not much of an offering when I consider everything she's done for me, but I hope it makes her happy. <3

 

 

**Paths in the Starlight**

 

“Just a little further and then we can stop.”

The words were spoken gently, softly, in a manner that any other might find comfort in—if said individual were human.

Spock didn’t fit that description, however. No, he was in fact quite Vulcan, and it was for that reason why having to lean on his captain due to an entirely preventable injury was so distressing. In hindsight, he had been unintentionally careless, when he reached forward to ensure Jim wouldn’t slip as they crossed a dry riverbed littered with jagged rocks. Irony had apparently been in the cards though, when it was Spock's own foot which had been snagged between two heavy stones buried deep into the dirt.

The twist of his ankle and disturbing sound that followed had rendered him incapable of walking on his own. It was a most unpleasant memory, and useless to revisit at the current time, so he focused on the present.

A strong arm had been extended across Spock's back and a hand protectively wrapped around his left ribs to support him while he leaned his weight against Jim. Spock’s own arm was draped behind and over Jim’s far shoulder, fingers dangling there as his wrist was gently clasped by a warm, human touch.

Beneath a blanket of celestial glitter, they traveled at a snail’s pace across a great plain covered in tall golden grass. It seemed strange all of a sudden that, somewhere up there amid the sparkles which flecked the dark sky, the Enterprise hung in steady orbit. The comforts of her controlled environment and tritanium walls seemed further away now more than ever.

 _Fascinating_.

The pulsating torment radiating from Spock’s ankle was severe enough to make him put forth as much effort as possible to shield the unpleasant sensation from his consciousness. And though Spock utilized all the skills his trained mind could offer to concentrate on blocking it, he could still detect phantom pangs of pain blazing across his synapses like wildfire.

"Almost there," Jim said, clearly unaware that the reason behind his first officer's typical reticence was driven by a much different cause than usual. It wasn’t that he was incapable of reading Spock’s demeanor or negligent to looking deeper into the situation. Spock simply ensured that he gave him no excuse to suspect otherwise.

Keeping Jim in the dark about his psychological state was the most agreeable route to take for the time being; it was the least Spock could do to redeem himself and not be a further inconvenience. He had already caused enough trouble. Spock’s face fell and he closed his eyes momentarily, allowing Jim to continue slowly guiding him toward a large, arching rock shelter. The formation jutted out mysteriously from the ground, and seemed a safe enough place to pause for rest.

Moving at the tedious pace his injury demanded, Spock took the opportunity to turn even further inward and collapsed mentally on himself.

This whole ordeal was entirely illogical, from how he’d become injured, right up to the manner in which he was currently coping with the situation. Unwarranted concern for Jim had caused this; neither of them had been in any danger, and there hadn’t been a pressing threat of him falling. Despite Jim’s sure and balanced steps, Spock had still experienced a compelling urge to reach for him, to ensure he would remain on his feet.

How paradoxical the universe could be. If laughing at misfortune was a Vulcan trait, Spock imagined now would be an acceptable moment to do so. It wasn’t, however, so he didn’t.

 _Kaiidth_. What is, is. But he wasn’t handling that philosophy all so expertly either.

After all, pain was manufactured within the mind. It should have been as easily controlled as any other thought or sensation could be—in theory. But as science would prove time and time again, theory was often very different from reality.

The truth of the matter was that Spock’s right ankle throbbed with a sharp ache that shot up the nerves in his leg, and without deeper meditation his shielding attempts weren’t entirely effective. The truth was that he needed the assistance of another to move about; he couldn’t limp or even crawl on his own without further exacerbating the damage. The truth was that he was, somewhere very deep down, actually satisfied that it was Jim who was there to help him, and no other.

However, the most relevant truth of all was that Spock was Vulcan, and finding himself with these very un-Vulcan thoughts was entirely unacceptable. It was unacceptable that Jim’s touch comforted him, that his warm tone soothed him, like it would a human—that he found himself grateful for his captain’s attentions when they were on a mission.

This wasn’t happening in the privacy of either of their quarters. Spock wasn’t currently wrapped up in the luxury of Jim’s sheets, wasn’t in a situation in which Jim would run those warm and loving hands over every inch of his skin. He had no reason to desire that closeness now, and yet his heart beat a little faster being in such short proximity to this man who could give him all of these things…this man who could make him believe that, for some time, no one in the galaxy was closer or more special to him than Spock.

…This man, who was his captain, who was currently involved in leading a survey mission on an alien world, who was responsible for its success and the safety of all crewmembers, who was giving all of his attention to Spock alone now.

It was unthinkable for Spock to find that he was somehow taking comfort in all this, in the arm wrapped about his torso and the gentle hand still clutching his wrist—in how Jim cared for him.

What had become of him, he wondered. When had he developed an addiction to the way Jim enveloped him in a universe of affection? What would his father think, his old classmates say?

“All right,” Jim exhaled, finally arriving at the rock formation they’d been heading toward. He very carefully shifted out from the arm he had been under, allowing Spock to balance himself against the jagged surface with one hand.

Jim rotated the arm that had been acting as the crutch, moved his head from side-to-side to loosen up his muscles, and then offered a quiet but genuine smile. “How are you holding up? It must be extremely painful.”

Spock simply shook his head. “With concentration, I am in adequate condition, Captain.”

With a large stretch, Jim quirked a brow and played right along. “Right, right.” He even offered a sympathetic nod. “I understand, Mister Spock.”

James Kirk was an excellent actor, but Spock could always tell when his penchant for logical behavior was being patronized out of support for his condition. He supposed that spoke more about himself than Jim.

“Let’s see,” Jim breathed, turning away from Spock with his eyes on the stars. His lips moved as he silently mouthed several names, confirming they were still headed in the right direction. Spock couldn’t prevent the admiration from swelling within him as he observed this action; to be on an alien world for the first time and still have the capability of navigating by the sky was no amateur feat. He watched Jim procure his communicator next. A chirping sound filled their ears as the grill flipped open.

“As expected.” It was shut with the echo of a single pointed tap. “The natural EMI is still interfering with our equipment.” The device was quickly returned to the fastener about his hips.

“Indeed,” Spock agreed, all weight put on his left foot as his right leg rested limp at his side.

“Why don’t you sit for a few minutes, Spock?” Jim suggested, walking the short distance back to him. “The shuttle rendezvous point is still relatively far at the pace we’re moving and you should rest your leg for a bit.”

As Jim went to reach for Spock’s shoulders to offer assistance again, Spock leaned back and shook his head. “Captain, that is unnecessary.”

“You’re sure you’re ready to move again so quickly?” Jim asked.

The concern present in his eyes was blatantly apparent to Spock, and it caused him a further moment of guilt for desiring the comfort of Jim’s touch at a time like this. It wasn’t sexual contact he yearned for, but the stability and acceptance that only those two hands and the brushing of Jim’s mind could offer him.

It was absurd. Had he always been so empty and lacking in self-confidence without Jim around? Spock couldn’t remember ever being as empowered as he was serving under him, both professionally and personally, but he also hadn’t recalled having all these irrational needs either.

“I should like to suggest an alternative,” Spock replied.

Jim’s brows raised and he cocked his head to the side, indicating he was listening.

“It would be prudent that you travel to the rendezvous point alone.” Spock pulled his gaze from Jim’s, instead reaffixing it to the wall of rock he leaned against. It would be easier to voice his plan without observing the emotions that would surely cross Jim’s features.

“My injury substantially slows our forward advancement, increases vulnerability, and invites further complication.” Spock’s chin dropped, and his eyes finally wandered back over to Jim’s. As expected, he didn’t appear pleased. “I shall remain here until it is possible to either send a security team to retrieve me, or the doctor—whoever may be first available.”

“Do you mind explaining what kind of an alternative that is?” Jim asked. “We paired off to make our observations since the communicators and transporter won’t work down here—to look after each other. And now you’re telling me to just leave you here, in the middle of nowhere when you’re injured?”

“We have encountered no hostile life,” Spock rebutted.

“ _Yet_.”

“Nor do we expect to. The odds of being confronted by such danger in our present location are exceptionally low: approximately—”

“Spock, I don’t care if the probability is in our favor,” Jim interjected, his voice becoming harsh and brows narrowing as he raised his hand. “The fact that we never received a complete planetary-wide survey from Starfleet is good enough for me. We’re proceeding with the mission as planned. If I leave for the shuttle, you’re coming with me. That’s an order. Do you understand?”

Silence hung heavy between them for long moments, both of them standing rigid and unwilling to speak first. Suddenly, Spock’s shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes.

“Irrational,” he said softly—unsure if the word was aimed more at Jim or himself. “Entirely _irrational_.”

His lashes parted to find Jim’s gaze again; however, it no longer held the severity that had been present earlier. Instead, there it was once more: that look which made Spock question everything he had endured over long years spent being convinced he would never belong anywhere, that he could never fit in.

But Jim’s eyes told him differently. And that was precarious.

Spock’s brows pulled inward and his voice grew louder when he pointedly inquired, “Why do you prioritize my safety over your own—allow me to further delay your regrouping with the others? They expect your arrival and yet you remain here on my account.”

“You’re saying it’s irrational to not strand an incapacitated crewmember, who has no access to communications or the transporter?” Jim asked quietly, no presence of anger or sarcasm in his voice. His gaze was soft and thoughtful as it traveled down to Spock’s wounded limb and then back up to his face. His lips pursed briefly as he waited for an answer to his question.

Those eyes, those eyes… Those expressive human eyes and what they did to Spock. They could penetrate right through him, shred his sensibilities, cut him to pieces, and make him _want_. And how he did—despite the mission, despite the uniforms they wore, despite the present location, despite the pain that was still so apparent from his ankle.

They could make Spock believe he was desired and loved just as much in return. And the prospect of being held in such high regard when he had nothing of substance to offer, besides the rattling off of certain odds and Vulcan ideology, was actually frightening. The thought that Jim shared the depth of this affection when Spock wasn’t wired to respond as humans did in a romantic relationship was frightening. The fact that someone actually found him worthy of love after a lifetime of rejection was frightening.

And yet, there those same eyes were now—gazing softly upon him, not judging him but reading him as easily as a book. Spock could recognize the sympathy they held, as if Jim were aware of everything he had just been thinking. Sometimes, he found himself wondering if a human could actually possess telepathic ability.

Jim lowered his head in thought and stepped forward, closing the space between them. And though the fabric of their shirts nearly touched, Jim’s hands remained carefully at his sides. When his chin lifted and he met Spock’s gaze again with a slight squint, it was apparent that he was consciously being very prudent to not overstep any boundaries or heighten the discomfort he knew Spock was experiencing.

Jim’s expression revealed he had once again inferred Spock was struggling inwardly. And not for the first time, Spock realized he was incapable of hiding his inner perils from this man.

Slowly shaking his head, Spock quietly spoke, “Jim, can you truly not understand the importance? That if you, yourself, were to become injured or encounter danger—”

The inner ends of Jim’s brows lifted minutely, but he didn’t speak; he simply maintained his silence and allowed Spock to continue.

“That if something should happen to you—that if it should be due to my injury or inability to protect you… Jim, I…” Spock’s voice was gone by this point, reduced to nothing more than a whisper. His last thought hung as he squared his shoulders, stiffened his frame, and swallowed hard. Finally, he averted his eyes downward and off to the side when he concluded, “I find that unacceptable. Your life is too precious.”

He wasn’t expecting what happened next—wasn’t expecting to feel the air displace around him as Jim’s hands shot up and cupped the back of his neck. Spock didn’t expect them to gently pull his face down, for Jim’s lips to press firmly against his. He didn’t expect the torrent of emotions that flooded into him suddenly, to feel the deep love that coursed out from those human fingertips which entwined his entire soul with the delicate ribbons of affection.

 

(This absolutely stunning art is by the amazing [johix](http://johix.tumblr.com/)!!)

 

Spock trembled for a moment, his hand raising to press stiffly against Jim’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, offering no protest to the kiss that had been bestowed upon his unworthy Vulcan lips—the same lips which could read off novels of scientific measurements and speak of logic until everyone around him groaned in annoyance. They were the same lips that read details from scanners, made careful observations of surroundings, and argued with overly emotional humans. And yet, they were the same ones that could never speak the words ‘ _I love you_ ’—the very words Jim deserved to hear after all this time.

Curiously, however, Jim acted as though he _had_ heard them…that he knew that somewhere, buried under layers of all his logic and rationality, Spock’s very essence shouted them over and over as it reached for Jim’s own.

Jim’s grasp tightened on Spock, and their lips parted slowly. Without either opening his eyes, their foreheads touched for but a moment. And then Jim pulled away.

“You think it’s any different for me, Spock?” he asked over an exhale. “You think I can just…” Jim shook his head, his lower eyelids raising just a touch. “…leave you, or anyone else for that matter, alone here?”

He carefully pulled Spock into an embrace and spoke into his blue-clad shoulder. “I won’t.”

The hand clasping the rock went as rigid as Spock’s body, his fingers flexing and tightening, nails pressing into the surface as if he tried to dig through it. He closed his eyes, lost to the sensation of being encircled tightly by those arms.

‘ _No_ ,’ Spock thought. ‘ _Nor would you embrace another like this_. _And I believe_ …’ The hand that remained docked on Jim’s shoulder clenched the fabric. ‘ _Somehow_ … _I believe that I might_ …’

“So it’s settled.”

Spock blinked, jarred out of the depths of his thoughts by that declaration.

Though Jim’s arms slipped away from him as he stepped back, Spock could still feel their warmth. He kept his expression blank and focused on each breath that he drew, while looking upon the face of his captain. Those soft lips had extended into a warm smile by now, and the entire galaxy seemed to bloom into life with it.

“I’m pleased you’re seeing things my way, Mister Spock,” Jim said, his tone returning to being friendly and official once again, as if they were back on the bridge. “Would you like to sit down for a bit, rest your good leg?”

Humans were such curious beings, and fortunate ones at that. How they could go from such a heavy moment laden with tenderness and affection, and then switch to a light-hearted disposition was beyond Spock’s understanding.

But he understood one thing. He wanted to be at Jim’s side always.

Jim’s eyebrows raised and he waved a hand in front of Spock’s unmoving face.

Spock’s vision immediately focused after that. When his eyes met Jim’s again, he blinked several times at the realization he was having. He had no right to ask Jim to commit to a life of Vulcan tradition, no right to ask him to trade a macrocosm of love for a carcass of logic, no right to ask him to carry half a marriage bond that would eternally link their minds.

“I require no further rest,” Spock replied, softer than he had intended with a quick shake of his head. “It would be advisable to return to the shuttle as soon as possible, provided that you are ready.”

_Because it was always like this. Whether it was a badly sprained ankle…_

“All right, if you insist. Let’s head out then.” The smile lingered on Jim’s face, even as he ducked beneath Spock’s arm.

_…or Spock’s broken soul, split and forever rejected by two worlds…_

Jim adjusted them so that they were both comfortable. As they resumed their slow pace from before, Spock’s fingers slipped along the jagged wall of rock until there was nothing left to touch. His palm swiped through the emptiness of the air, and landed atop Jim’s hand that was resting over his ribs once more.

_…Jim was always there to catch him, to mend him, to support him…_

They shuffled along together, making their way through the knee-high grass and navigating by the stars—hobbled until they met hills full of moonlit white flowers that closely resembled Terran globular dandelions in the seeding phase. Their boots unintentionally kicked and dragged, detaching the weightless seeds from their central joining point to float up into the air and surround them before drifting lazily back down.

_…and somehow, for some reason, Jim was willing to love him..._

Not once did Jim complain or show the slightest bit of annoyance at the fact that he had no choice but to act as Spock’s crutch. In fact, he smiled and laughed, talked about trivial things like they were just spending leisure time playing chess, until the shuttle and their worried crewmembers finally came into sight.

…And Spock could do nothing in return for this kindness but think back on Jim’s earlier embrace, and finish the thought he left hanging.

As he was carefully maneuvered into the shuttle while M’Benga waved a medical scanner over him, Spock finally admitted something to himself that he never thought he would. It was ridiculous to think that though Jim and he were romantically involved for nearly three years now, Spock had never allowed himself to realize this unhealthy dependency he had developed.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be without Jim. It was that he didn’t _want_ to be without him. And if Spock could selfishly have it his way, Jim would always be there to catch him when he fell, to be his crutch when he couldn’t walk, to be his eyes when he couldn’t see.

It took so much to finally admit this to himself, after drowning in a deep well of shades of gray and binary logistics his entire life—that just like any human, Spock could find solace and healing in the arms Jim willingly offered to him.

But there was irony and the paradoxical universe to also consider, and while he sat in the shuttle with his leg elevated…while he silently watched the crew make their preparations to lift off, Spock wondered how long it would be until he felt the warmth of those arms around him no more. In nine months, their five-year mission would finally meet its conclusion.

His eyes fell on Jim’s shiny blond hair. After the assignment ended and the team disbanded, after the need for company and late night chess matches dissipated, what could he possibly offer a human besides a lifetime of loneliness?

“All systems go, Captain,” Scotty reported from the helm. “We can leave any time you like. Atmosphere penetration should be a wee bit smoother this time, now that I made some sensor adjustments.”

“Very well, Mister Scott,” Jim replied, sitting beside him before the main control panel. “Take us up. But go easy on her.”

“Aye, she’ll be ready for the trip when we return, Sir. Lifting off.”

Spock closed his eyes. He could offer nothing.

The shuttle levitated slowly, scattering the delicate seeds of the ivory flowers in every direction, and then took off toward the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers for this chapter: [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix), [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [hikarvsulu](http://hikarvsulu.tumblr.com), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979), [thornyoak](http://thornyoak.tumblr.com), [TrekkieSlut](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekkieSlut)  
> \- [johix](http://johix.tumblr.com), for the BEAUTIFUL art that finally inspired me to write this story. If you want to see some seriously beautiful K/S pieces, make sure you check their work out!! Seriously. It's so perfect!  
> \- [Akai](http://spockshair.tumblr.com), for being an amazing friend to me always  
> \- You, for reading!! <3
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Not all those who wander are lost"—unless it's through sex pollen. In that case, bless.
> 
> Featuring beautiful art by [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/). <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my absolute favorite things about writing in the classic Trek universe is the amount of creative freedom it provides. It's not even just the dynamic and complex characters we've been given. We're also gifted with this perfect opportunity to add in science and make up new technology. It's by far the most interesting and enjoyable fandom I've ever written for.

**.* Chapter 2 *.**

“The tears in your ligament will be simple to repair. A little treatment with the anabolic protoplaser and some good ol’ rest and relaxation will fix you right up.” McCoy withdrew his medical scanner from Spock’s ankle and then turned to the tray of supplies beside the biobed. “I’ll attach a dermal stimulator later to promote better blood flow and stop any bruising. But before that, let’s tackle the sex pollen.”

One pointed black eyebrow shot up. “I beg your pardon, Doctor?”

“Sex pollen, Spock,” McCoy reiterated curtly, picking up a standard injector that had apparently already been preloaded with medication. “You know, from the massive field of it that you and the others were in.”

Perhaps his thoughts were currently being influenced by what Terrans called _wishful thinking_. In some ways, the hypo approaching Spock resembled those white flower seeds that were swept up into the air during his journey across the terrain of Alkar Beta. The shuttle’s landing spot had been specifically selected for its convenient location: a central position about the transitioning of natural contours in the landscape.

They’d touched down amongst the flora of rolling hills, and ventured off in pairs to plant data collection devices in their preassigned areas. Spock recalled Lieutenant Fujinami, the ship’s senior resident xenogeologist, outwardly flaunting excitement that such diverse and fertile environments existed within a reasonable walking distance to the landing site.

…That was, of course, if one remained uninjured and able to traverse on foot. Before that incident, however, everything had gone well.

The direction Jim and Spock opted to take would lead them across the hills covered in those spherical flowers, through a plain of tall golden grass, and to the bed of a mild river. If it hadn’t been for the misfortune involving Spock’s ankle, they would’ve been there and back to the shuttle in a matter of just under three hours with their mission accomplished.

Covering that much diverse scenery so quickly was only part of the magic of Alkar Beta—a small world in a hostile location, rich in natural resources.

The planetary properties made for fascinating study. Located in a binary star system, it was the last place one might expect to find a world overrun in familiar thriving vegetation. And yet, existing between a yellow and red dwarf could have explained why it was the plant kingdom to thrive here, and not one of animal genealogy. The gravity war and consequential radiation factors would have such an effect on lifeform development.

Similar to the conditions encountered on Omicron Ceti III during the first year of the mission, the radiation on Alkar Beta would break down skin tissue after an extended period of exposure. It had been the reason for deciding to leave scanners on the world instead of a science team to collect readings. However, it was also safe enough to endure for several days—and that was more than enough time to place the equipment by far.

Thus, Spock’s planet-side excursion with Jim had gone underway. Simple observation early on revealed there wasn’t anything particularly special about the white flowers. They littered the greenest parts of the land, and that was the extent of their importance. Without a functioning tricorder, there was no immediate way of ascertaining the constitution or more detailed attributes, but they appeared ordinary enough to dismiss.

Spock hadn’t paid any additional mind to them as Jim and he traveled over the field the first time. Their movements kicked up feather-light seeds while they walked, but that was to be expected; it was a common way for plant life to reproduce without the need for pollination. And considering that these flowers blanketed everything, this particular species was thriving on its own well enough.

By contrast, he’d certainly given the life beneath his feet a greater scrutiny on the way back. With his body slumped over and pressed tightly against Jim’s while they staggered along, Spock had a more comfortable view of the ground than the sky. Being dragged through the tall, dry grass had been troublesome, as their actions roused tiny hard-shelled insects out from the shelter of the long golden chutes.

However, once the landscape gradually changed from overgrown plains to green hills laced in ivory flora again, Spock had observed a bizarre phenomenon. The presence of aphids had been replaced by those familiar thin, oblong seeds. They floated like feathers in the air, catching the bright luminance of Alkar Beta’s large natural satellite which hung high and full above them.

Curiously, Spock had become much more aware of Jim’s natural scent at that point. It was the same pleasant one he could detect by inhaling close to his hair or the juncture connecting his neck and shoulder.

The strong fragrance stirred Spock’s thoughts without warning, an inappropriate onslaught of fresh memories battering him.

_Their hands entwined. His mouth opened and a sound he didn’t recognize as his own emerged._

He was compelled to look at Jim, but his eyes snapped shut. Why Spock suddenly began reliving the previous ship’s night was inexplicable. Improper didn’t even begin to describe this situation, and he attempted to prevent his mind from going any further.

_His fingers dug into the fabric of crimson sheets and clamped down as hard as he could, pulling and twisting forcefully._

Unable to further resist the urge, Spock’s lashes parted and he lifted his chin. His eyes fell on the soft contour of Jim’s profile, and his tongue prodded out to quickly wet his lips. He tasted Jim there.

Despite telling himself that he was being irrational, Spock couldn’t tear his gaze away as his heart began beating quicker. A flash of heat swept right through him, setting him ablaze. He had always found Jim attractive, but now, he wasn’t able to stop staring.

Naturally, Jim had taken notice that something changed in his peripheral vision, and turned his face as far as their current position allowed. Spock felt the hand over his ribs press a little firmer.

“Do you need to rest?” The space separating their faces allowed them to make eye contact but was minimal enough for Jim to ask his question softly. It was nearly a mumble…the same mumble, in fact, that he used when they lay beside each other during ship’s night—the one Spock could hear when Jim was kissing his way up and down his jawline while murmuring nonsensical things about their relationship.

It was as if the entire moment had become electrified when their eyes met. Though a justifiable reason existed for the current position, Spock couldn’t stop himself from noticing that Jim’s lips were close now in the way they were only when they were alone.

Technically, amid the white seeds floating through the veil of silver moonlight, they were. And for whatever logic drove him to it, the realization hit Spock that he had never acknowledged his love for Jim more than he had at that very moment.

Maybe his cheeks flushed verdant. Maybe they didn’t. After all the time they’d spent together, it was no secret to Spock that his affection for Jim ran deep. It wasn’t, however, something he cloaked himself with or flaunted. As with any emotion, it needed to be controlled and mastered before it threatened his commitment to living the Vulcan way.

But there Spock was, in the middle of a mission—injured and distracted, hyperaware of his love for Jim to the point that his breath had become short. And somehow, the same depth of that regard was being projected back to him through the touch of those warm human hands and the expression in those hazel eyes.

 

 

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/ms6dw0z.jpg)

(This absolutely stunning art is by the amazing [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/)!!)

 

Both Spock’s chest and controls tightened in response before he destroyed himself.

“Unnecessary.”

That had been the only word he was capable of speaking, and it seemed enough to inspire a gentle smile across Jim’s face. His body betrayed that tender look, though; Spock could feel Jim’s frame had stiffened considerably, just as his own had.

After a fleeting moment of staring wordlessly into each other’s eyes—as if one was waiting for the other to suggest the insane idea of stripping where they stood—Jim’s gaze fell to Spock’s lips. He stared at them in consideration before his eyes fell closed and he turned his head forward. A deep, choppy breath was drawn in as if pulling away like that had been caused him pain. His lashes parted, and then they resumed on their slow journey back to the shuttle.

And at least for a short time, Spock’s former concerns seemed to drift as lightly as the seeds they roused up about them.

However, that escape hadn’t lasted long once Spock strictly focused his thoughts more on the situation than his proximity to Jim. The temporary peace he had been granted from Jim’s displayed affection dissipated as he began to consider exactly what had transpired on this planet.

Recalling each aberrant moment turned Spock’s mind to analysis. He mused upon his overprotectiveness of Jim, his uncharacteristic clumsiness, his unfocused mind, his inability to shield the pain from his injury effectively… and that horrifyingly wasn’t even all. There had been a sudden upheaval of everything he’d kept so carefully controlled with no logical explanation.

To desire this closeness to Jim now, to experience a rise in gratification for having a reason to touch him like this, to find himself studying their personal relationship while on a mission was absurd. And when Spock had realized he had begun to think so irrationally—so _human_ -like—all of the unease from earlier rushed in with overwhelming force.

His concerns once again became as real as the hypo that was now pressing to his arm...as unforgiving as the sterile walls of sickbay surrounding him.

The hissing sound that occurred when the medication was administered was a temporary distraction from the low staccato sound of the vitals scanner matching his heart’s rhythm. And then there was a familiar voice.

“There,” McCoy announced. “That’ll negate the effects from the field you decided to wander into.”

Spock’s brows barely knitted down and he lifted his chin, his eyes meeting McCoy’s. “Decided?” he reiterated in monotone and with cool detachment. “Really, Doctor?”

“Well, _someone_ made the call to land the ship there,” McCoy countered, turning so he could put the empty hypo on down. As he readied the anabolic protoplaser, he continued rambling on. “Was under the impression you approved those decisions, Mister Science Officer.”

Spock remained silent, his face pulling away from McCoy. He stared out at the textured transparent aluminum part of the wall that separated the treatment beds from the examination room. The eyebrow that McCoy couldn’t see raised slowly.

Without any mention of the pollen from the previous team which had visited Alkar Beta years ago, no one could have expected encountering it. If Spock had known, he wouldn’t have ever allowed the landing in that location. And considering what the trip had done to him… His eyes closed. _If only_ he’d known.

“Christ, Spock. I’m joking with you.” McCoy turned the protoplaser on and ran it across a small strip of test material. He muttered, “Not sure why I bother to do that, though. Guess I just never learn my lesson, is all.”

After a minor equipment adjustment, McCoy pivoted to face Spock and dropped himself upon a rolling stool. He slid down to the end of the bed to access the injury.

“That dose of terakine M’Benga gave you in the shuttle should still be in effect. Are you experiencing any pain right now?”

“Negative.”

“All right then. Just keep your foot still for me, Spock,” McCoy instructed, leaning forward and applying the soft white light of the protoplaser to his skin. “This won’t take long at all.”

It was relatively quiet on this side of sickbay, compared to the other. While McCoy concentrated on the task at hand, Spock’s gaze wandered to the open doorframe connecting the rooms when he heard laughter and footsteps. The four lower ranking members of the Alkar Beta crew were making an exit, apparently finding the concept of their exposure to sex pollen…humorous?

Yet again, Spock found himself concluding that human nature was sometimes entirely inconceivable. How they were able to continue on so carefree with their lives, to the point of laughing about the experience was so far beyond Spock’s reach. It was so different from his own reaction.

A small part of him was relieved to have learned that inhalation of the pollen was to blame for those outlandish desires surfacing during the mission. He’d been greatly troubled by the threat of his Vulcan morality fading. Still, however, what had emerged while he was under the influence was no less concerning even with that added bit of information.

Everything Spock had realized down on that planet—everything he had _felt_ —was entirely true. The seriousness of his situation confronted him in a manner he wasn’t sure how to handle.

His affection and esteem for Jim had always been apparent, and seemed to grow more and more as time went on. Even so, Spock had always been capable of separating their professional and personal lives, just as Jim could. And they did.

Perhaps that was the reason why Spock had never stopped to consider what their relationship might actually become in the long run. He was certain a second five-year assignment awaited Jim, and Spock would undoubtedly be agreeable to following him through another tour.

However, time was something he wouldn’t have forever. It’d been nearly three years since the disastrous incident with T’Pring occurred, since Spock had begun frequenting Jim’s bed. No longer able to rely on his mixed blood sparing him from the madness of Pon Farr, the only logical assumption was that in four years, it would happen again. And by that time, he would’ve needed to have found another mate.

That problem seemed so far away back then, when Spock saw Jim alive and grabbed his arms in pure, unfiltered elation. He had been _ecstatic_ to see Jim. And when days turned to weeks without addressing the issue of having no one to replace T’Pring, Spock decided he would handle it when the moment was right. But that reasoning was flawed and he knew it. There would never be an agreeable time to consider the insanity he would need to endure again.

That was the excuse he told himself, at least. Jim had made it so comfortable to just push off.

The reality that he’d been incapable of admitting, until the pollen of Alkar Beta _forced_ him to, was that he wanted Jim as a mate. Spock had always known this, somewhere beneath the fathoms of his logic—that being without Jim was undesirable, and finding another who would willingly cherish himself so greatly would be impossible.

But did he deserve it?

Spock’s eyes went back to the doorway when he saw Engineer Scott taking his leave of sickbay and disappearing into the hall.

“I’m sorry for the wait, Captain,” Chapel said from the next room. “It’s your turn now. Have a seat here, please.”

While Jim was irreplaceable, Spock very much doubted that the same could be said of him. He was very aware that Jim loved him, though for what reason, Spock would never know. But to ask Jim to give up everything that was meaningful in relationships to humans…to deprive him of finding someone who would be able to openly return his affections…to force him into the madness of Vulcan traditions…

Spock’s shoulders fell.

“Hey, uh, Spock, just so we’re clear,” McCoy spoke, not taking his eyes off the procedure he was performing. “I really _was_ kidding before about you authorizing that landing. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Doctor McCoy.” Spock’s interjection stopped whatever words were about to be said next; it would be better that way. “I was unaware trivialities were part of this treatment.”

McCoy scoffed. “Shame on me for having a conscience.”

“Is it contagious?” Spock inquired.

“Bout as contagious as that Vulcan nature of yours apparently, and I don’t see any other walking computers around here.”

The banter was commonplace between them, but on this particular instance, Spock experienced the full weight of those words.

He asked himself again. What could he ever offer Jim that another couldn’t do better?

“Done,” McCoy announced, switching off the protoplaser and pushing back from the biobed. He placed the device on the tray and then reached for a small sheet of flexible shiny material. After peeling off several geometric shapes, he methodically applied them to Spock’s ankle. “Now, these are those dermal stimulators I was telling you about. You can take them off in twenty-four hours.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock replied over the breath he exhaled as he pushed himself up and slid his legs over the side.

“I’m not done with you!” McCoy snapped. “Your ankle might be repaired but I’m still ordering you to rest it. I’ve given one ship’s day of leave for everyone who was down on that planet, and that includes you. You’ll go to our regularly scheduled, after-mission meeting to wrap up and that’s it.”

Spock’s eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth.

“R and R, Spock. Rest and relaxation,” McCoy cut him off while he arranged his equipment on the tray to prepare for the sterilization process. “Don’t fight me on it or I’ll make sure you’re out of commission for a week instead of one day.”

“One whole week, Bones?”

Both McCoy and Spock instantly raised their faces to the doorway to find Jim walking through it with a grin. “I’m not so sure this ship can run without Spock for that long.”

“Oh look, Spock, your Prince Charming has finally come to rescue you,” McCoy said sarcastically, resuming his tray arrangement. He finished, rolled it off to the side, and leisurely crossed his arms.

Spock’s lips opened and closed. His shoulders and head moved back in the slightest and a brow raised.

“Forget it, Spock,” Jim laughed, raising a hand as he approached them. “Sometimes Bones thinks he’s a comedian, not a doctor.” He jabbed McCoy in the bicep. “Keyword there is _think_.”

“Aw hell, Jim. And people tell me _I’m_ the no-fun police.”

“Or maybe he uses that so-called comedy of his to secure his job as a doctor, since it’s so painful to hear.” Jim’s smile only spread further.

McCoy scoffed and then exclaimed, “Are you tellin’ me I’ve outlived my usefulness and you’re finally gonna let me retire?!”

“Not in a million years, Bones.” Jim’s eyes met Spock’s. “How are you?” His question was asked softly.

“Adequate, Captain,” Spock replied, rotating his foot as proof. “Once again, the doctor’s potions have worked to simultaneously heal my injuries and sicken my stomach.”

“Not my fault you got that green blood running through your veins, Spock!”

Indeed. It wasn’t Spock’s fault either, and yet it seemed he was always paying the price for it anyway.

“Well, if you’re done treating Spock, I’ll be taking you both with me to the wrap-up meeting,” Jim said, stepping back to allow McCoy to walk by him with the tray.

“Yes, Captain, Sir,” McCoy replied, heading over to a sterilizer and quickly placing the tools inside. Spock slipped his sock and boot over his foot, and then stood, adjusting his uniform.

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” Jim said. And with that, he led Spock and McCoy out of sickbay.

It wasn’t that Spock was averse to attending meetings—though, they did have a tendency to last longer than necessary because of the human penchant for discussing irrelevancies. But he very much disliked the idea of spending the next two hours debriefing details from this particular mission with others. What he needed most of all was to meditate on the experience for his own stability first.

 _Kaiidth_. What is, is. However, what the future held was a much more troubling thing to consider than what the present already did.

That was what consumed Spock’s thoughts as he walked behind Jim through the corridors—as he wondered what it would be like on the day when he was no longer able to go where Jim was leading.

Spock’s eyes lowered. It was only a matter of time he didn’t have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers: [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix), [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979)  
> \- Gio Galvan for the utterly stunning art!! If you're interesting in seeing more beautiful work, please click [here](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/) and send love. <3  
> \- You, for reading!! <3
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this episode of Paths in the Starlight... Was Spock caught between a rock and a hard place, or was he just hard? Did Jim seriously just use his captainly charm to hit on his boyfriend? Will McCoy ever stop the sass? Find out!
> 
> Featuring beautiful art by [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/). <3

**.* Chapter 3 *.**

From his peripheral vision, Spock could see Jim’s elbows resting atop the conference table. He dared not look directly at him, but could perceive that his hands were clasped before his mouth, lips pursed against the knuckles of his thumbs. Jim’s brows were a bit furrowed while he listened carefully to the group giving their account.

There were nine others aside from Spock in the room—the members of the Alkar Beta team, McCoy, and Yeoman Rand. That meant nine pairs of eyes could potentially see right through his deadpan Vulcan façade. It was a perturbing sensation, feeling naked in front of an audience while physically clothed.

This was a new and troubling development. The entirety of Spock’s life had been comprised of learning how to control emotion and then hiding it away so that it was as negligible as background noise. That was the theory behind the exercises he was taught when he was a child. He had to learn on his own that such a thing was only achievable in—as Terrans said— _perfect world_ conditions.

Without external stimuli, Spock’s authority over emotion would reign like a dictator. However, unless he lived in solitude like the Masters of Gol, limiting exposure to such impetus was infeasible…especially while living aboard a ship filled with hundreds of humans.

It was challenging to understand the inner workings of his crewmates’ thoughts and actions, considering Spock had always been able to regulate his own responses so efficiently. He’d faced highly stressful encounters with other lifeforms, seen fellow officers meet untimely deaths, confronted certain demise himself, and watched others whom he cared for challenge danger countless times.

It wasn’t that these situations hadn’t affected him, because they had. The difference between then and now was the ability to keep a clear mind. Any grief or anxiety which had surfaced because of a specific event was isolated, and then meticulously filed away later through meditation.

By contrast, this was the first time Spock had ever found himself experiencing the threat of possible exposure in such a public environment. In a private setting, he’d been sized up by only two humans in life: his mother and Jim. Both naturally possessed the onerous talent of looking straight through his exterior and seeing him for who he really was.

But Spock had never faced the concern that any other non-telepath could simply look at him and know everything he was thinking. He’d never been threatened as he was currently by the idea that the crew might perceive both his rampant thoughts and regard for Jim. For the sake of maintaining professionalism and his own sanity, it couldn’t happen and Spock would do everything possible to ensure it wouldn’t.

Therefore, he sat as he always did: in his usual chair, wearing a carefully blank expression to not invite suspicion.

Fortunately, the present company was more interested in reporting how they fared on Alkar Beta than looking at him. It was, however, most unfortunate that the details of encountering the aphrodisiacal pollen hadn’t even been mentioned yet; Spock could only conclude that it must not have affected any other in the severe way it had Jim and himself.

That possibility was burdensome on him—and apparently Jim also; an expression of deep thought had gradually developed across his features as the meeting aged. It was likely that Jim, too, was quietly asking himself the same questions Spock was.

Still, Jim’s reticence wasn’t incongruous and wouldn’t raise any red flags—at least not while the scientists were relaying the observations they’d collected. He often conducted post-mission briefings in a similar state.

At first glance, the balance of power on the ship was clear in the room. On one side of the table sat Jim, Spock, Scotty, and McCoy. M’Benga had pulled over a chair in the center; Rand had situated herself across from him to compile notes. At the opposite end were Lieutenant Fujinami, her scientific counterpart Lieutenant Reyes, and the two security members who had accompanied them.

Despite the intermingling of ranks, everyone appeared comfortable to be in attendance and never hesitated to speak. Spock recalled McCoy once saying that having the right individual in the captain’s chair either helped or hindered the crew. The absence of tension during this wrap-up conference was a tell-tale sign of what kind of leader Jim was.

Without functioning tricorders, there was little actual data to present and many visual observations to detail. They’d been covering different areas of their brief survey for approximately thirty-three minutes and thirteen seconds, when the subject weighing heavily down on Spock was brought up at last.

“Some species of plant-life were similar to ones already catalogued elsewhere. And that, at last, brings us to the type of flora we landed in,” Fujinami concluded, her hands neatly folded over a PADD on the table before her.

Jim raised his hand, making a polite request for her to not go any further. “Due to the more personal nature of what’s been encountered, I’m asking every member of the team to submit an anonymous written account out of respect for privacy and confidentiality. You’ll send your report directly to Doctor McCoy.”

Fujinami’s eyes met Reyes’ and then the two security members’. Searching for any change in consensus as she spoke, she slowly responded, “If you’d permit us to, Captain…” Her gaze slid to Jim when her colleagues offered no protest. “We’d like to present our experiences now, along with early results from the lab. All four of us came to the collective decision before that it would be agreeable to discuss here.”

Jim looked to the other three and received nods confirming the fact.

“Very well, Lieutenant, the four of you may proceed,” Jim agreed. “Just remember that everything spoken during this meeting goes on record and is accountable.”

If Jim was trying to avoid the topic because of what they had experienced together, Spock decided he was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Nothing in Jim’s behavior suggested he was uncomfortable or unwilling to further the conversation, outside of the concern for his crew’s privacy.

Spock knew better, though. He knew perfectly well that Jim was just as reluctant to speak of their personal encounter, despite the openness he showed. Right from the very beginning of their relationship, they had both decided that no one else could know about it, and successfully carried on for years without needing to disclose that fact.

Yet now, for the first time ever in his career, Spock wondered exactly how he could write an accurate report for this mission without compromising everything they had guarded so meticulously. It seemed everything was suddenly at stake: the privacy of their relations, the personal integrity they carried, the confidence everyone had in them both. After all, how could any crew not lose faith or ask questions, after finding out the first officer was sharing a bed with the captain in secrecy like Spock was?

These factors would all need to be considered, and soon—but for now, Spock focused his mind on the conference; perhaps information would be revealed about the pollen that could help solve the issues plaguing him.

“Thank you, Captain,” Fujinami replied. “But you see…that’s just it. There’s nothing we have to report that needs to be said anonymously. I was stunned to find out exactly what we’d been exposed to upon returning to the ship.” Her fingers slipped away from each other as they unfolded and she gestured as she spoke. “Frankly, this type of pollen should have stimulated an uncontrollable sexual desire, but it didn’t.”

Reyes chimed in at that point. “I would have described the feeling as more of a high…like a rush. It didn’t even enter my mind to suspect a foreign substance had anything to do with it. My heart was pumping when I saw how diverse the planet was, but that’s normal for me.”

“So, you think our scanners misread what was detected on us before decontamination?” Jim asked.

“No, Sir, the scanners were definitely right.” Fujinami shook her head, her hands landing on her PADD and picking it up. “However, it seems the pollen would stimulate the expected response only under the right conditions. I’ll present our initial findings.”

The device brightened to life. “Computer, duplicate,” she commanded.

“ _Duplicating_.” The strips of light lining the ceiling automatically dimmed and the holoprojector in the center of the table responded. It tossed out the image of a complex molecular structure that lit the darkness.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/snC3TmE.jpg)

(This absolutely stunning art is by the amazing [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/)!!)

“While we were undergoing the post-mission examination in sickbay, I had my lab staff take a closer look at the pollen sample preserved on a slide before beaming up.”

With a swipe of her hand, the large structure in the projection broke apart, separating into smaller compounds to make them easily identifiable. She pressed a finger to her screen and drew an orange circle around one in particular, the act mimicked in the image.

“These molecules here form epinephrine.”

Jim’s eyes squinted and he straightened his spine to lean in a little closer, studying the individual compound compositions. An idea was apparently forming. If it were any other time, Spock might have been impressed with Jim’s ability to put the story together without advanced knowledge of chemistry.

“And these here,” she continued, drawing a blue triangle around another collection of molecules, “form oxytocin.”

A smile pulled at Fujinami’s lips, seeing a look of revelation simultaneously making its way across the faces of her superior officers—barring Spock himself, naturally.

“You’re following me, but since we’re on record, I’ll explicate on each compound. Epinephrine, or adrenaline, is the fight-or-flight hormone triggered by exhilarating or highly stressful conditions. It prepares the body for immediate movement by inciting a rush of excitement within an individual.”

“Oxytocin is the hormone released when touch occurs between two mammals. It plays a large role in social interaction, helping members of all sexes establish connections and feelings of trust with each other. It’s released in high quantities when two individuals with a strong bond come into close and prolonged contact with one another.”

“And it doesn’t stop there. Before synthehol was introduced, the composition of Terran alcohol played a role in the releasing of inhibitions. A form of it is right here.”

Another circle was drawn around that collection of molecules and then Fujinami swiped her finger back across the screen. The smaller compounds twirled around each other until they formed their bonds and displayed the complete picture again.

She raised her hand, palm open and facing up as she motioned to the image. “Captain, may I present to you a laser-focused love potion with one catch: it doesn’t entice random hosts into falling in love. However, if two already sharing a bond come into contact with it, it would theoretically amplify the feelings between them.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” McCoy huffed under his breath.

Jim’s brows pulled inward and his eyes wandered over the image again, repeating her conclusion to make certain the theory he’d clearly formed earlier was accurate. “So the pollen would only produce all the results we’d expect if it were inhaled by people who already share a romantic connection.”

“The oxytocin is mostly to blame for that part,” Fujinami added with a nod. “It explains why we all felt the adrenaline rush while planet-side but no other effects. The feelings of companionship we have for each other run deep, but they’re not as strong as they would be if any of us were intimately involved.”

“My initial hypothesis is that close proximity and, particularly, contact would augment the expected results even further. It would be a likely effect when considering the combination of oxytocin and pheromones. I’ll be running more tests, but my prediction is that we may have accidentally discovered the strongest aphrodisiac known to the Federation—provided that it’s used by couples who are already amicably together.”

“Well, that’s just great!” McCoy clapped his hands and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll convert the sickbay into a marriage mediation clinic and advertise guaranteed results.”

Jim’s eyes wandered over to him, the corners of his lips twitching up momentarily into a small but amused smile. His hands clasped before him on the table. Casually, he pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side, addressing Fujinami again. “Do you believe it to be dangerous?” His words were carefully chosen. “Is it something we should transport to a larger lab?”

“No, Sir,” she replied, with a shake of her head. “It seems we’ve all inhaled quite a bit of it and it hasn’t caused any adverse effects. I believe the worst it might do is release one’s inhibitions—possibly emulate intoxication. But beyond that…I see no danger.”

McCoy agreed. “That’s true. Everyone who was on the shuttle cleared medical inspection. The medicine I ordered to be administered removed the physical effects instantly, but the body would’ve cleared it on its own after a few hours. However.”

He crossed his arms, his blue eyes falling on the table for a beat before returning to Jim’s. “ _However_ , this is one of those occasions when I insist some things just shouldn’t be tampered with. Especially when it comes to the possibility of using a substance like this to manipulate someone else. I mean, imagine this in the hands of a master social engineer. The results could be disastrous, on an individual level and potentially even threatening entire organizations like Starfleet itself.”

Jim studied the projection for several moments again. “Your concern is noted, Doctor, but we’re under obligation to share this discovery with headquarters.”

“I understand that, Captain,” McCoy replied. “But I’m also under moral obligation to point out these kinds of things on the record.”

“Duly noted.” Jim sat back in his chair, his thumbs hooking on the edge of the table. “Well, I think we all have a clearer understanding of what to immunize against when we return to collect the data. Lieutenant Fujinami, I want a copy of this file sent to Yeoman Rand for the official report. You and Lieutenant Reyes will work together to further study the pollen without the introduction of host testing.”

“Yes, Sir.” Fujinami gestured over her PADD to terminate the projection and brighten the lights again.

“Is there anything further to discuss?” Jim looked around the room and saw no indication of it. “Very well. We’ll be departing shortly for our next survey mission on Mir VI. To be cautious, Doctor McCoy has suggested twenty-four hours of leave for all crewmembers who were planet-side and I’ve authorized it. Dismissed.”

The space filled with the typical sounds as the attendees began collecting themselves and filing out of the room. Scotty stood tall, pushing his shoulders back and swinging his arms to loosen them up.

“Captain, sorry again for the bit of a rough ride we had when we broke through the atmosphere down there,” he offered. “Without us being able to compensate for all the radioactive interference the first time around, it went a lot worse than I’d normally expect.”

A smile crossed Jim’s face and he clapped Scotty on the shoulder. “Never mind, Mister Scott. A little turbulence is good for the soul sometimes.”

McCoy’s hands clasped behind his back and his eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Well, praise the Almighty I was safe and sound in my sickbay during this particular trip.”

Jim turned to him with amusement written across his features before facing Scotty again.

“The trip should be smoother when we return,” Scotty assured with a nod. “I’ll be making some adjustments based on data the shuttle collected during entry that will hopefully stabilize us better the second time. In fact, I’ll get a team right to it now.”

“Good work, Scotty.” Jim’s eyes followed him as he walked through the doors, and then called out, “But don’t let McCoy catch you hiding in Engineering while you’re on leave.”

“Aye, Sir! That’s what the Jefferies tubes are for!” Scotty called back jovially from the hall.

“So that’s where he goes…” McCoy grumbled.

“Well, that’s that!” Jim held his hand out to the door, indicating Spock and McCoy should also vacate the room. “Gentlemen.”

“Jim, I meant what I said earlier. It wasn’t just for the record,” McCoy began as the three of them meandered into the corridor and began heading to the nearby lift. “There’re some things that just shouldn’t be messed with, you know? Now, I’m no chemist, but I know a lot about the effects of hormones like those on the body. This pollen could seriously disrupt someone without them even knowing it. I mean, by God. With a little social engineering and a bouquet of those flowers, why anyone could get the keys to a kingdom for the price of a cheap candlelit dinner.”

“It’s worrisome, Bones. I know,” Jim agreed, waving his hand before the sensor to call the lift. “That’s why I ordered no host testing. I’m sure the higher ups are going to have it sent to a research facility, but until that decision reaches me, we’ll proceed as usual.”

McCoy hummed in reply and bounced on his toes twice. “What’s the matter, Spock?” he asked, suddenly shifting the topic. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

With his shoulders stiff, Spock fully turned to him. “I was merely listening carefully and considering the moral implications on my own.”

McCoy’s brows raised and he cocked his head. “Oh, I was just under the impression you would’ve found that little ol’ substance fascinating.” The lift chimed and the doors split.

“Hardly, Doctor.”

They shuffled in, Jim and McCoy respectively ordering the short trip to the decks containing senior officers’ quarters and sickbay.

“Just think of it, Spock,” McCoy said holding his hand out before him with a smug smile. “You could apply some human charm for a change, get someone to like you for once, and easily lure the perfect spouse.”

Spock’s hand tightened on the lever it held to. His mouth opened but was beat to responding first.

“Bones, knock it off,” Jim said in a tone that was neither angry nor amused. In fact, Spock couldn’t exactly place _what_ it sounded like. “I said I agree with you.”

McCoy hummed once more, hands unfolding from behind his back as the lift slowed to deck five. He clutched the lever, keeping the doors open as Jim and Spock took their leave of his presence. They both turned to bid their farewells. “Jim, stop by my office for a drink at some point.”

“Will do. I’ll catch up with you later.”

As the lift closed, McCoy called out, “And, Spock, take care of that ankle of yours!”

Then, he was gone.

Jim’s chest puffed out as a deep breath was drawn through his nose. He stole a glance at Spock, raised his eyebrows, and then they began walking down the stretch of hallway before them. Upon reaching the entrance to Spock’s quarters, Jim lifted a hand toward the door to indicate they should step inside.

For a moment, Spock debated informing Jim of his need to meditate, despite their location. Though the deck containing the senior officers’ quarters barely saw any foot traffic, it still qualified as a public area. And while it wouldn’t be entirely outlandish to speak quietly of meditation here, Spock decided revealing that fact in private would be the wisest choice.

The door slid open and Spock entered first, the lights automatically rising from darkness to seventy-five percent. He took several steps into the space and placed his PADD down on the desk.

“Jim—”

“Spock—”

When they both began speaking at the same moment, Spock pivoted completely to observe Jim closing the distance between them with a confident stride. He clasped his hands behind his back, stiffened his shoulders, and swallowed as his captain stood unwaveringly before him. “Please,” Spock yielded with a slight nod, allowing Jim the opportunity to speak first.

Jim’s brow was furrowed in the same manner as it had been earlier, which indicated he was either contemplative or concerned. Spock wished for neither at the moment.

“Are you all right?”

So, Jim apparently had been both of those things. Lifting his chin, Spock inquired in a clinical tone, “Have I given you reason to believe otherwise?”

Jim’s eyes barely squinted as he studied Spock’s face before his own relaxed with a small smile. The weight he had evenly distributed on both feet shifted, causing his right hip to jut out a little as he assumed a slightly more casual stance. “It’s just that you’ve been quiet.”

Drawing his lips taut for a moment, Spock’s gaze lowered in thought and he hummed in agreement.

“Yeah, that whole ordeal was a little…” Jim trailed off, the corners of his lips pulling a little further when their eyes met again. “…awkward, right?”

“Are you referring to what transpired on Alkar Beta or during the conference?”

Jim’s brows raised along with his shoulders. With a shake of his head, he offered, “Both. But I received some comfort in knowing there was a bona fide reason behind what happened in that field.” There was a pause. “…Not that I don’t find you attractive, Mister Spock.” That beautiful smile grew even wider, painting every gray part of the known universe with vibrant color. “But I’m sure you understand.”

Spock’s mouth opened and immediately closed. He identified exactly what Jim was attempting to do now, and hadn’t been expecting this form of indirect consolation. When Jim held his hand to the door, Spock had assumed he would take the straightforward approach and request he speak of it openly.

But once again, Jim had kept him guessing—and once more, Spock had guessed wrong. It was the same random tactic he employed during chess that made him such a worthy opponent. Though Spock had tried to remain unreadable, Jim looked right through his armor of logic and stoicism to find he’d been weighed down by his thoughts.

However, Jim could never know exactly what they were. He couldn’t know that it wasn’t just the occurrence during the mission that was troubling Spock so deeply. And Spock would do every possible thing to avoid revealing that information.

The universe took his side for a rare instance when Jim just continued, instead of waiting for Spock to come up with some fanciful reply which would divert from the subject.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Spock,” Jim said. “So now that that’s out of the way, why don’t I let you meditate on it for a while? Say…” His eyes flicked over to the chronometer. “One hour? Is that enough time?”

Incredible. Jim somehow always knew.

“Sufficiently so. And after?” Spock inquired, his brows raising a touch.

“Dinner and chess, my quarters.”

While spending time on his own to gather his thoughts had been first priority, Spock hadn’t the desire to deny Jim’s company. Part of him believed he should have declined, considering the substantial problem he needed to face...but there was something about being in Jim’s presence that significantly calmed Spock.

“It would be agreeable.” Spock’s chin lifted. “If my understanding of human vernacular is accurate, I believe the appropriate question at this moment is _for business or pleasure_?”

Jim’s palms fell gently upon Spock’s chest and he leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re the science officer,” he mumbled in reply. “What do you think?”

When Jim’s heels touched the floor again, Spock’s brow crept up. “I shall see you in one hour with my answer.” A beat. “Captain.”

With that, Jim simply smiled and turned. Spock’s eyes followed him as he wordlessly took his leave, and then lingered on the door for several moments after it shut.

His lips parted and a choppy exhale pushed its way out between them. Keeping this particular inner strife from Jim would require the utmost usage of all the skill and control Spock had. He hadn’t been able to successfully conceal his previous perils from him. However, all of these other past insecurities he had faced due to being a child of two worlds seemed utterly trivial in comparison.

Spock’s lashes fell. He swallowed hard.

The stakes were too high. But he would play them for as long as he could...for as long as Jim looked at him with that expression laden with affection and understanding. Until then, until the end of this mission, Spock would remain vigilant and support this man who had given these things to him freely. He owed him that much.

His eyes opened and with these thoughts, Spock suddenly was refreshed. This was the profound effect Jim had on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's time for Spock to see some comfort, don't you? <3
> 
> ~
> 
> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers: [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix), [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979)  
> \- Gio Galvan for the utterly stunning art!! If you're interesting in seeing more beautiful work, please click [here](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/) and send love. <3  
> \- [ScullyLovesQueequeg](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg) and Elina for fact checking <3  
> \- You, for reading!! <3
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a date. Dinner and chess. Until things take a sudden turn, but is it for better or worse? For Spock, it's actually no question at all...
> 
> Featuring two beautiful art pieces by [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/). <3

**.* Chapter 4 *.**

The aura of incense permeated throughout Spock’s quarters, giving the air a spicy scent to match its crimson decor. The lights were low and the temperature hot by Terran standards, but a Vulcan would find these conditions desirable.

And Spock did.

Thirty-seven minutes ago, he had kneeled upon the mat beside his bed and hadn’t moved since. His eyes were closed, fingers loosely entwined across his lap. The breaths he drew matched the ones he exhaled: calm, slow, and mechanical. His heart beat to the sound of a mental metronome—the very same which kept Spock’s body and spirit in perfect balance with everything surrounding him.

The background noises from Jim previously showering, from the ship now traveling to its next destination at warp three, from the air circulatory system softly blowing were all negligible. There was a humbling comfort in silence, and in his current state, it was all Spock heard.

His mind was an ocean, sensations of calmness rippling across it like gentle waves gliding to a placid shore. In this way, Spock was no longer a single insignificant product of stardust, but one with the universe itself. He inhaled the cosmos and expelled any asymmetry in his thoughts which challenged his commitment to Vulcan discipline. Like this, he was at total peace.

Once more, all was as it should have been. Spock had successfully tied up the loose ends troubling him and filed them away. His balance was finally reclaimed.

After one last deep breath, he rose to his feet without the assistance of anything but his core to maintain equilibrium. With perfect posture, Spock stood for several moments, his head held high and shoulders pushed back. Finally, his lashes parted slowly to the dim light of his quarters, officially concluding his meditative state.

Spock’s eyes focused, drawn to one particular object directly in his line of sight: a heavy teacup with no handle. It rested innocently on the shelf near the red wall divider, and yet its presence seemed so much larger.

Spock slowly walked around his bed and reached out with one hand. His fingers bloomed apart above the top of the vessel and gently planted themselves along the circumference, as he lifted and placed it in his other palm.

The cup was beautifully crafted with a texture that enticed the pads of Spock’s digits. He ran them along part of the agitated surface, marveling at how its ivory hue popped against the dim light encompassing him—and realized that the one who gave it to him was no different.

His fingers stiffened protectively around the cup. _Jim_.

“ _Missed you down there_ ,” Jim had said after returning from his last shore leave excursion—which Spock once again opted out of. After taking Spock’s hand and turning it so his palm was facing up, Jim placed a shimmery white box in it. “ _I was thinking about you._ ”

It had been just large enough for Spock to need his other hand to support it. He recalled Jim’s smile and the fondness in his eyes…remembered how receiving yet another gift had perplexed him.

Spock had never known how to act in such a situation, as Vulcan culture had no inclusion of making offerings without purpose. Was Jim implying that he wished for Spock to join him on the ship’s next shore leave? Did Jim believe there was something Spock needed which he didn’t already have? Had Jim given with the expectation of receiving in the future?

Unsure how to interpret it, Spock had simply uttered a word of gratitude and carefully placed the sealed box on his desk. Jim never insisted that he open it. In fact, he simply grinned and told him it was his ‘ _pleasure_.’ Later, Spock would undo the ribbons and flaps, and find this particular cup within. He immediately wondered if there was something wrong with the one he had been using.

 

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/yUoV599.jpg)

(This absolutely stunning art is by the amazing [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/)!!)

 

Curiously, the gifts Jim gave him were always like this: personal in nature, and yet outwardly ordinary. A cup was a cup, after all, and no one else would suspect anything from his using it. But Spock enjoyed drinking from this one—enjoyed absorbing the heat from the ceramic and running his fingertips over the coarse surface.

Every time Spock looked at it, he remembered Jim. And every time Jim saw him drinking from it, those beautiful human lips twitched into a tiny smile.

Spock treasured that smile, and he would go on treasuring it, even when he was no longer part of Jim’s life.

His grasp tightened on the cup. It was bizarre, thinking such things. He’d never before questioned the rationale of his relationship with Jim, or considered the end of it. In hindsight, there was much the pollen on Alkar Beta had inspired him to realize that he wasn’t ready to admit, even now.

The cup Spock held was a reminder of just how inept he was at being a human’s mate; it would never occur to him to purchase anything for Jim or bring back little trinkets from places he’d visited. But despite Spock knowing he was completely incompatible…despite his knowing Jim deserved better and would certainly find better one day, Spock still desired to bond with him.

That was possibly the most detrimental realization of all. After all this time, Spock finally _wanted_ something—and it was something he could never have. For one who lived such a frugal life and went without desire for so long, the reality was too harsh.

Even if he hadn’t met Jim, he still would have delayed in finding a solution to his looming problem. Spock would have avoided the issue of needing to find a suitable partner until the end of the current mission, regardless of who was in the captain’s chair. When the Enterprise returned to Earth, four years would still remain until his next Pon Farr. It was sufficient time for his search.

However, Spock _had_ met Jim, and Jim’s presence made it even easier to ignore.

In fact, Jim made everything easy. The words he spoke earlier about the pollen’s effect on them both had brought peace to Spock without the deep meditation he thought he needed. When Spock knelt upon his mat and drifted into his trance, it was more tranquil and controlled than he had imagined it being earlier. The difficult part was already done for him; all that was left was to solidify his controls and decide what to do with everything that had recently come to light.

He was successful in achieving that.

After careful consideration, Spock’s conclusion was that there was logic in their relationship. To repay Jim for all that he’d given him, Spock would fill the empty space at his side and in his bed. He would ask for nothing further, however, as Jim had already granted more than Spock even deserved. The cup he held was just one of many examples proving that.

 _Filling an empty space_ seemed incorrect terminology, but Spock didn’t know how else to describe it. Jim had never viewed Spock as an intentional placeholder. From the emotions transferred through their contact, there was clear truth in his regard. No matter how confounding it was to Spock, Jim honestly loved him and wanted the best for him. He honestly believed that by loving Spock with all he could, he was making himself happy.

For once, Spock found that he had a better understanding of an emotional situation than Jim. He wouldn’t be able to explain to Jim what happiness was from a human point of view or how to achieve it. But Spock knew what would _not_ make him happy…and that was being chained to Vulcan tradition for the rest of his life.

A human could derive no pleasure from being obligated to form a mental bond with a telepath—a sentence which would persist even beyond death. Jim’s spirit was destined to wander, and being forever linked to Spock would be no different than trapping him in a cage. He would be incarcerated in a marriage to someone who could never reciprocate the precious things he offered. He would speak novels of his affection, only to receive a silent nod in return.

And yet, undoubtedly, Jim would simply accept this, if it meant saving Spock’s life. He would sacrifice everything that was meaningful to a human to spare Spock the consuming blaze of Pon Farr.

This was the responsibility Spock refused to bear. He refused to even give Jim the choice. He would not be the captor of someone who could never survive in confinement, would not be the one to dampen the flames of a lively soul to the ashes of mere obligation.

However, at the moment, Jim had no other romantic option and Spock had no mate. Until Jim moved on to someone more worthy or the current mission ended, Spock would remain right where he was in spite of his shortcomings. With no link binding him to another, he could give his company and his body to Jim in return for everything.

But how Spock wanted things to be different… If only…

The cup was replaced with a pointed tap. It would be illogical to lament over what was inevitable.

There would come a day when Spock would need to say goodbye, when he would need to bury everything wonderful that he’d experienced and learned from being with Jim. But that time wasn’t now—and nor would it be tomorrow. With this reasoning, he pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind and made his way to the shared bathroom.

Strangely, Spock wondered if Jim would once again _accidentally_ walk in on him while he was under the sonics. He didn’t. Vulcans never experienced the sensation of disappointment, so neither did Spock.

 _Fascinating_.

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ﾟ･:*:･｡

Naturally, he intended to be on time, right to the very second. Clad in completely fresh attire, Spock’s hands clasped his PADD behind his back when he stepped out of his quarters. In the corridor he found Montgomery Scott, just about to pass by his doorway.

“Evening, Mister Spock,” Scotty greeted him with a smile, stopping to stand with his hands on his hips.

“Good evening, Engineer Scott,” Spock replied, his voice unintentionally disinterested. It was the tone he often used when McCoy had inconvenienced him in some way.

Scotty seemed unaffected by it. In fact, he would reveal a similar gripe with the same person.

“He’s a slick one, that Leonard McCoy!” Scotty exclaimed with a shake of his head as the grin faded from his face. His brows raised. “Can you believe he actually chased me when I was leaving the mess hall?”

“Chased?” Spock reiterated. Scotty had a proclivity to small talk while off duty, and Spock’s top priority now was to end this conversation as soon as possible without indicating it was his intent.

“Aye, right into the lift. He even said the deck level for me! The lad just _knew_ I was heading to Engineering and he wasn’t having any of it.”

“It does not sound contradictory to Doctor McCoy’s character,” Spock replied, beginning to walk down the hallway. His companion followed at his side.

“Suppose not,” Scotty said with a shrug as they approached Jim’s door, “but he really ought to calm down. That man’s going to end up with an aneurysm one day with the way he constantly worries.”

“I shall inform him of your concern, Engineer. I am certain the doctor would be flattered hearing it from me.” Spock stopped in his tracks. “If you will excuse me, I have the mission report to review with the captain.”

“Ah, careful, Mister Spock,” Scotty admonished. “Don’t let McCoy find you working on leave or you’ll end up like me. I swear that man’s got eyes in the back of his head and knows everything!”

One pointed brow raised.

“Little does he know though that I’ll be working in secret from my bunk!” Scotty clasped his hands and rubbed them. His voice was filled with childish excitement. “I got a date with some warp core recalibration figures so I best be off! Good night, then!”

“Indeed.” Clutching his PADD firmly at the small of his back, Spock watched as Scotty began making his way down the hall while humming to himself. He turned the corner, and then he was gone.

Though the bathroom connected Jim’s quarters to his, Spock frequently decided to use the hallway to save face and maintain professionalism for any wandering eyes. He believed such rare encounters with crewmembers as he walked to Jim’s would negate any suspicion of their personal relationship.

And so, he stood before Jim’s domicile. One hand elevated and activated the sensor to announce his presence. From the other side, he heard Jim call, “Come,” and was granted entrance.

Bowing his head, Spock walked in and found Jim sitting at his desk. The door swished shut.

“You’re late, Mister,” Jim scolded through the smile he wore. “Late by—” He looked at the chronometer as he stood. “—two minutes.”

Spock’s face remained at a slightly downward angle as Jim approached him, but his eyes slid up to make contact. “Precisely, I am overdue by one minute and forty-seven seconds.” He paused. “ _Sir_.”

“One minute and forty-seven seconds, you say? I hope you have a good excuse, Commander,” Jim replied softly, reaching for Spock’s shoulders and taking them in a tender grasp. His voice became temporarily stronger when he commanded, “Privacy lock engage.”

“There is a sufficient reason, Captain.” Spock’s brows raised in a knowing expression. He matter-of-factly reported, “Engineer Scott is off duty.”

Jim’s lips parted and he simply nodded, followed with a smug grin. “Well…I’ll overlook it this time if you agree to dinner with me.” He put an arm around Spock and began to lead him to the small table across from his desk.

“Most kind. Your crew is fortunate to have a captain who pardons delinquency with repast.” Spock finally moved the PADD from behind him when he sat down in the chair Jim pulled out.

Once Spock was settled comfortably at the table, Jim leaned over, pursed his lips above his ear and mumbled, “My crew doesn’t know this side of me.” He abruptly snatched the device from Spock’s slender hands, righted himself, and placed it on the desk. So much for multitasking.

Spock’s gaze followed Jim as he about-faced and walked to the food synthesizer, his arms folded and one hand cupping his cheek.

“Hm…what do you feel like eating, Spock?” Before Spock could deliver the rebuttal he intended to, Jim tittered with a huff and corrected himself, “What do you _want_ to eat?”

“I put my trust in you this evening.” It wouldn’t be untrue if Spock had added _as always_ to the end of that remark. His eyes sought their hazel companions to no avail; Jim was looking through the menu codes on the touch panel.

“That’s a good choice, Mister Spock,” Jim said quietly, reading the scrolling list of meal options. “Let’s eat something different tonight—wait. Computer, pause. Spock!” He turned to him, all the lightheartedness disappearing from his face and being substituted with a serious expression. “Do you like Italian?”

That was…unexpected. From the way Jim asked that question, it seemed more important than simply questioning Spock’s food preference. Spock had been going along well with Jim’s flirtatious banter so far—a talent he’d developed after much experience—but this sudden weighty shift in attitude was confusing. What was so dire about such an inquiry?

“I beg your pardon?”

“Italian food, Spock. Do you like it?”

“I…cannot answer as I have not tried it.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me.”

“Jim…” Spock’s denial of doing so was stopped by the smile pulling across Jim’s face and the hand he raised in the air.

“I can’t believe we never ate it together before! After all this time…” Jim said with a laugh, turning back to the synthesizer. So, that was what his emotional display had been about. Human overreaction was most intriguing. Before Jim spoke the order, he looked at Spock again and asked, “It’s all right?”

Spock’s eyes shut and he nodded once. Everything was all right, and would remain that way as long as he simply responded as usual. When his lashes parted, his gaze fixed on the cup Jim had placed on the table before his arrival. It was similar to the one he was holding in his quarters earlier, and from the scent, Spock knew it contained his favored spiced tea.

He brought his hands above the table and wrapped them around the outside of the cup. The heat permeated through the ceramic, comfortably warming his digits as he watched steam rise from the drink.

Jim began issuing the order and his words quickly faded into the background. Grazing the side of the mug with one thumb, Spock continued to stare at it. It had taken so much time for him to become acclimated to human behavior and antics, especially where humor and romance were concerned.

If such a thing as fate existed, then it would appear as if Spock was meant to meet Jim—if only to know firsthand what a polar opposite was. Jim was the combination of every good thing from Earth. Wherever he went, he brought the light of his home world's sun, immersing everyone and everything around him in kindness and positivity.

As the youngest captain in Starfleet history, Jim was respectful and caring, compassionate and empathetic. His crew related to him, and trusted him implicitly. _Spock_ trusted him implicitly. He was confident and adept—had faith in his instincts and made bold, clear-headed decisions while facing stressful situations of extreme magnitude. He had been bred for command, born for it.

Under Jim’s leadership, the Enterprise had already claimed an important place in the history of space exploration and the mission hadn’t even finished yet. Their successes would be taught at the academy, their conduct benchmarked as the finest crew in the fleet. And while it was said that a captain was nothing without a crew, a crew was just as lost without the right person in that center seat. There was no place Jim belonged other than the captain’s chair, aside from chasing the stars that called his name.

More than just a captain though, Jim was a genuine friend. He was true to his word and always quick to make someone smile. Spock had witnessed this not only with Doctor McCoy but also Lieutenant Uhura, Engineer Scott, and countless others. Jim knew the names of ensigns and would make the effort to talk with them, even if it only entailed asking how their shifts were going. Until proven wrong, he considered everyone worth his time and would treat them with the respect and attention they deserved.

When Jim had first met Spock, it was no different. In fact, the difference was that Jim had _seen_ no difference in him. He didn’t dismiss Spock as the same halfbreed who belonged nowhere and wasn’t put off by Spock’s predilection for logic or Vulcan discipline. Instead of being the _contagious human_ or the _irritating Vulcan_ , Spock was simply Spock to Jim. He’d been accepting of him right from the beginning, from the very moment they’d met when Jim offered the ta’al.

Spock hadn’t understood Terran nature for the longest time, even though he spent years living amongst humans. Serving under Christopher Pike hadn’t been an undesirable situation. Certainly, no one mistreated him and there were very few times Spock had encountered any disrespect in the ranks. But the difference between then and now was that before, he’d always been on the outside looking in.

That changed the moment Jim stepped off the transporter, when Spock laid eyes on him for the first time ever. It was as if he’d known from that moment that this blond-haired, charismatic man would impact him in a way that would change his life forever. And Jim did.

Jim involved him in things outside of duty, like playing chess and exercising. He’d invited Spock to eat with McCoy and him in the mess hall, to join them on shore leave. They talked about things that had nothing to do with the Enterprise—sometimes about Vulcan or Earth, sometimes about people and places Spock came to know only through Jim’s sharing of memories. And little by little, without his even realizing it, Spock had become immersed in a culture that he’d once merely watched from the sidelines.

Truthfully, there were many things Jim said and did that Spock still couldn’t fully understand. He didn’t grasp the humor in his puns or the meaning in his gift-giving. But seeing Jim’s face light up the way it did during those times was enough to convince Spock that he could like them anyway.

Indeed, as a friend, Jim was second to none.

But then, there was Jim as a lover, _his_ lover—the only person to ever run his hands over the torn fabric of Spock’s soul, the one who stitched two halves together and made them whole and beautiful. Jim had been the only person to love Spock and make love to him, to needlessly fuss over him and insist he was perfect as he was.

Jim had been the only person to become close enough to Spock to really know him and even then, he never asked him to change. He was the first to tell Spock he was desirable inside and out, to gaze upon him with a look he gave no other, to touch him in ways Spock hadn’t even touched himself.

It was an enigma. Jim could have anyone he wanted. And yet, he chose to spend his time with a Vulcan-Human hybrid who was the total opposite of every single good thing he was.

Spock had met many people throughout his life. Of them, some were kind, some were rude. Some were trustworthy allies and some were not. Some cared about his wellbeing and others looked right through him as if he didn’t exist. But out of all the people who Spock had ever met, there had only been one like Jim.

And there would only be one Jim in Spock’s life.

“Spock?”

…if only for another eight months, twenty-nine days, five hours, and—

“...Spock?”

Spock’s eyes had fallen shut while he thought on all this and his hands soaked up the warmth of his tea. They snapped open to find Jim standing beside him, holding two plates. He immediately moved the cup out of the way to make room for his dish.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked, setting down a plate of pasta covered in red sauce.

“I was merely thinking,” Spock replied.

“About?” Jim slid into his chair across the table.

“It is negligible.”

“Ah,” Jim replied, handing Spock utensils and then a linen to place in his lap.

Another favorable attribute of Jim was that he was respectful of Spock’s privacy. There were times when he pushed, but they were rare and only when the situation demanded him to. This wasn’t one of them, and Spock was extremely grateful to avoid being forced into explaining everything he’d been thinking.

Jim took a forkful of pasta and put it in his mouth. After he chewed, he seemed pleasantly surprised. “It’s good!” Jim urged. His fork dove back in.

“It is an intriguing shape,” Spock noted. The pasta looked like small cylinders cut at the same angle on both ends. He brought one piece to his mouth and tasted it. An eyebrow raised.

“Good, right?” The smile was back on Jim’s face.

“Indeed,” Spock admitted, catching two more with the prongs of his utensil.

“It’s called penne arrabbiata, if you want to order it sometime when I’m not around.” Jim lifted his glass. When Spock lowered his eyes and didn’t look back up, Jim paused and waited with the rim pressed against his lower lip. Finally, he moved it away without drinking and softly said, “Spock.”

Their eyes met.

“Don’t think about the report, okay? I’m going to take care of it.”

For long moments, silence hung heavy like afternoon heat in the Shi’Kahr desert. Neither moved.

“In fact,” Jim began slowly, a serious expression transforming his face. His tone completely changed. It became low and clinical—the kind he used while giving orders on the bridge. “Don’t think about anything that happened down there. It wasn’t your fault.” He picked up his glass and drank.

Spock pushed his pasta around on the dish. “Very well.”

After replacing the glass with a tap, Jim grabbed his fork again. “I already know how to handle it. Just leave it to me.” He took several bites and then changed the subject. “So your ankle is okay? Bones fixed it up for you?”

Spock nodded. “I am experiencing no pain.”

“Good,” Jim said, the mood lightening up just as his voice did. “That’s good.”

“Jim.” Spock’s hand stilled, the fork resting on the edge of his plate. He looked down and off to the side for a moment before meeting Jim’s gaze again. Even though Jim was attempting to act naturally, there was concern present in his eyes. It was ironic that he could challenge anyone on the bridge with a second-to-none poker face, but there were times in the privacy of his own quarters when Jim became more readable than he would probably have liked. Spock doubted he even realized it. “Do you believe the doctor suspects?”

“Suspects what? About us?” Jim lifted the glass to his mouth and paused. “He never said anything to me, so probably not.” He drank. “Why?”

“Quite curious. When I met Scott in the corridor, he reported that Doctor McCoy forced him into the lift to ensure he went to his quarters.”

“Did he now?” Jim asked with a laugh.

“He also claimed that the good doctor has eyes where they should not belong and, as Mister Scott put it, he _knows_ everything.”

Jim ran a hand through his hair and chuckled. “That’s McCoy for you. Do you have any idea why he’s got this crew under his thumb?” When Spock shook his head, Jim just smiled. “Psychological warfare. He puts on a good show for someone who’s just a kind and modest guy, right down to his bones.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jim swung one leg lazily out from under the table and then pushed his empty plate forward. He looked down at his hands while Spock continued to slowly eat. “Hey, Spock? If he knew, would it bother you?”

Spock swallowed and he froze, staring at Jim for several moments in wonder if he had misheard. He realized he hadn't. “You and I have each agreed that our personal relationship must remain undisclosed.”

Both Jim’s brows and hands raised. “Okay, okay, it was just a question. I remember what we agreed on and I’m fine with it.”

“I need not remind you of the possible risk it would pose to the crew’s confidence. Additionally, if my parents were to discover that I have been…if Sarek were to come to know…”

“…that you’re…sleeping with your captain…” Jim filled in for him slowly.

Spock’s eyes returned to his plate. “It would not be a pleasant situation.”

“Because we’re not bonded, right?”

“Precisely.” It was a curt response. Spock placed his fork neatly down and abruptly changed the subject. “Jim, I thank you for introducing me to Italian food. It is agreeable with my palate.”

Jim wore a soft smile and tilted his head forward slightly. “My pleasure, Mister Spock. We’ll try a different dish next time.”

“Very well,” Spock responded, steeling himself against Jim’s eyes. They were reading him again, and if he wasn’t careful, he would indicate too much. “Do you wish to play chess?”

Jim pursed his lips and cocked his face to the side. “If you’d be so kind to arrange the match while I clean up here…”

“Affirmative.”

They both stood at the same time. Spock placed his plate and utensils atop Jim’s, and then walked the short distance to the desk. The three-dimensional chess set was stored along the far wall with the pieces resting in a box neatly beside it.

Spock retrieved them and returned to the small table. He sat in his chair again and while he began removing the pieces from the container, his eyes wandered up. The synthesizer’s sterilization process had finished and Jim was meticulously putting the dishes and kitchenware where they belonged.

The way in which Jim relented and took his leave of that dangerous conversation troubled Spock. Jim wasn’t someone to leave such a deep subject hanging the way he had, and it made Spock wonder. Perhaps he simply realized he’d broached an inhospitable topic, one that was sacred and never spoken of lightly.

After all, Jim hadn’t asked how Spock’s meditation session went. In fact, he _never_ inquired about it, after learning how important and personal it was to Vulcan culture. The reasoning was sound; Jim was nothing but respectful toward others’ customs and beliefs. Therefore, when he took his seat again, Spock willed the tension in his shoulders to dissipate.

Standing in neat rows of onyx and ivory on the table, the chess pieces were ready to be placed on the platforms. Spock’s eyes met Jim’s for a moment and then they began arranging the game.

The small figurines made tapping sounds as they were set in their appropriate blocks. They placed the pawns first, working quickly and moving down the line of pieces until they reached for the same king.

Jim’s fingers landed atop Spock’s. The both of them froze, suspended there as if time stopped.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/lkkDjxd.jpg)

(More amazing art by [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/)!!)

_Hesitation_. At first, it was hesitation that Spock detected from Jim’s touch. Through the contact, he could perceive pangs of excitement and a sensation akin to nervousness coming from his captain. And then, Spock realized that Jim desired to inquire something of importance—something serious that would cause all of these latent emotions to stir within in him.

Those words Jim had said echoed suddenly in his mind. _“Because we’re not bonded, right?”_

Spock’s heart nearly stopped beating.

He stared with wide eyes, when Jim’s digits slid along his own and then took his hand gently.

And in that moment, Spock forgot how to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers: [DoublePlusAwesome](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoublePlusAwesome), [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979)  
> \- Gio Galvan for the utterly stunning art!! If you're interesting in seeing more beautiful work, please click [here](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/) and send love.  
> \- You, for reading!! <3
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock thought he had it all figured out...until he realized he didn't.
> 
> Featuring beautiful art by [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/). <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that cliffhanger last week! I hope this chapter makes up for it. <3 Just as an FYI, it contains a scene that's nsfw, but the description of what happens isn't overly detailed.
> 
> Thank you, ladyxdarcy and amara1783, for your kind and encouraging words! :D
> 
> And THANK YOU, GIO!!! Your ability to create such gorgeous art absolutely blows my mind!!!

 

**.* Chapter 5 *.**

Spock could hear nothing except for the pounding of his heart.

The entire universe as he knew it shrunk infinitesimally, until the only thing it encompassed was the space surrounding Jim and himself. For that solitary point in time, everything was negligible except for the way in which Jim tenderly held his hand.

A question was forming—one being asked through the touching of their fingertips before escaping on the backbone of carefully chosen words. The emotions transferred through their physical connection were strikingly familiar and Spock recognized that Jim was cautiously approaching him with something delicate.

He’d perceived these exact feelings of anticipation and nervousness projected by Jim on just one prior occasion. It happened after their return from the disastrous koon-ut-kal-if-fee ceremony on Vulcan, after Spock had found Jim alive and safe in sickbay.

“ _Let’s go mind the store_ ” was an invitation to set things right between them in the privacy of the captain’s quarters. Conversing about what had transpired was necessary but by no means comfortable. Though Spock wasn’t any more specific than he needed to be, Jim had clearly begun to piece together a crucial observation…T’Pring’s rejection was really no different than any other Spock had faced repeatedly over all his years.

That’s when it happened: a turning point which simultaneously closed one chapter of Spock’s life and unexpectedly began a new one. A match was struck when Jim asked one small, seemingly insignificant question.

“What happens now?”

Heavy silence was all Spock could reply with, the absence of sound echoing in his ears. His spine had gone completely rigid with the realization that he had no immediate answer to such an inquiry. There was nothing that could save him any longer, no laid out plans to secure his future or certainties he could depend on.

But there was a glint in Jim’s eyes which had inspired something deep within Spock despite his hesitation. They were so filled with what Spock would later learn to identify as love, that no amount of training or meditation could ever erase them from his memory.

In fact, there were many things that happened during that tense moment of ambivalence which he would never forget.

He remembered the warmth of Jim’s hand falling gently on his bicep, the soft squeeze it gave him, and the emotions radiating from that touch…remembered how Jim quietly asked, “You don’t know?”

Spock shook his head and swallowed, gathering his words. “There is no other,” he replied. “I shall commence my search for one willing to settle.”

“To...settle? Surely—”

“Please, Jim.” Spock’s voice lowered considerably and he cast his gaze out the window; it was easier to speak the next part to the stars instead of his captain’s face. “I speak from experience. There is no individual who desires me.”

The hand Spock felt on his cheek was completely unexpected; it coaxed him into meeting Jim’s gaze again and finding that his features had softened even further. Those human eyes searched him, and then Jim’s face began drawing closer and closer to his own.

The approach was slow and careful, giving Spock every opportunity to say no and stop where the situation was headed. Through the contact, he knew everything Jim felt…the terror of possible rejection and the jittery sensation Terrans referred to as _butterflies_.

Spock remembered how those few seconds were laden with uncertainty, how they seemed to last much longer when he felt Jim’s breaths beginning to feather over his face—how a question of many questions was inexplicably being asked through the deafening reticence.

‘ _Is it okay? Is this—? Can I?_ ’

The moment hung in a volatile state of do or don’t, and it was then when the air left Spock’s lungs, when his eyelashes fell and he relented.

‘ _Yes_.’

Then, their lips touched—softly, tenderly. That single slow-burning flame reached the end of the match and dropped into the universe of ashes that Spock hid himself away in.

All at once, they ignited.

They scorched his insecurities and doubts, his memories of rejection and isolation and never belonging. They charred the faces of his old classmates, consumed his father’s disapproving gaze, and swallowed the whispers that followed him through the corridors. They burned right through being too Vulcan or too human but never enough of either. These calcified layers that had formed around Spock detonated, and like a phoenix, his soul exploded out from the embers.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/9sDua1f.jpg)

(This absolutely stunning art is by the amazing [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/)!!)

Spock’s heart pounded when the floodgates opened, when Jim breathed life into him and every monochrome pixel blossomed into the colors of Vulcan and Earth. They blended and mixed until neither could be distinguished from the other.

For the first time, he was one with himself—whole and complete. And when Spock began to physically tremble, when he felt Jim pull him into the protection of his arms…that was when he knew what it was to no longer be alone.

But things could have unfurled much differently, resulting in the forfeiting of life as Jim knew it aboard the Enterprise. Had he been turned down, there were two likely outcomes. In the best case, he could dance his way out of it while trying to salvage their friendship. In the worst, he’d receive Spock’s request for transfer to another ship. He’d taken a calculated risk that jeopardized so much, but rolled the dice anyway because Spock had been worth the wager.

They’d fallen in Jim’s favor, just as Spock had fallen in his arms.

That was Spock’s point of reference in attempting to predict Jim’s current behavior. But even back then, when so much had been at stake and everything could have been lost, Jim’s emotions weren’t this strong as they were presently. Though his body language didn’t show it now, their contact revealed that he was nervous and anxious, excited and a bit apprehensive.

And that could mean only one thing in Spock’s mind. Their conversation over dinner had gravitated to the subject of not being bonded: the solitary topic Spock had needed to avoid at all costs.

He might have laughed if he had it in himself to do so. At first, it seemed he’d escaped that fate unscathed, only to find that his vague reply may well have led him down this one-way street. There were no easy means of withdrawing from the situation and once more, Spock found himself cornered by the paradoxical universe. He was trapped.

Truly, how had it come to this? Had he indicated? Had he somehow projected his thoughts to Jim?

Spock was unblinking, staring at Jim’s warm hand holding his own. Every muscle in his body had gone completely stiff and the silence which followed seemed to persist for much too long.

Spock felt Jim’s grasp tighten, and heard him softly say his name. At last, his gaze broke away from the protective grip on his hand. It wandered up slowly, trailing over a gold-clad arm to broad human shoulders, and finally finding Jim’s.

Jim’s expression was gentle, his eyes filled with the same conspicuous affection Spock had seen before the first kiss they shared. “I want to ask you something,” he said quietly, “but I don’t want you to agree just because you feel you need to. Can you do that for me?”

Spock swallowed and raised his chin. His mouth barely opened and he paused for a moment. He had never experienced the urge to beg for something in his life the way he wished to do so now. Jim was about to ask for his hand in marriage, and he had no idea how to stop that from happening. Unlike the way Spock accepted his kiss, his company, his body, and his gifts, he would be unable to be the recipient of such honor—not after the wakeup call on Alkar Beta.

Before Spock could even begin to formulate a reply, Jim appeared to take his slight movement as consent to ask.

Time stood still. Nothing in the universe moved. Spock’s heartbeat no longer echoed within his ears, and the passing of one second had never felt longer.

It was like standing on a precipice damned to crumble beneath his boots. Spock experienced the sensation of himself tilting forward as Jim’s lips parted in slow motion. His intangible body moved millimeter by millimeter, coming closer and closer to toppling over that ledge.

And then, Jim spoke.

“Shore leave is coming up.” He smiled. “Will you consider joining me this time?”

Silence. Absolute silence followed. Spock blinked. After several moments, he blinked again.

“Spock?”

With his attention remaining locked on Jim, the only part of Spock to move was his mouth. He softly confirmed, “Shore leave.”

_Shore leave._

His eyes fell closed, his lips opened, and the breath that remained imprisoned within Spock’s lungs finally broke free. He knew his chest visibly contracted when it left him.

“Hey.” Jim’s voice took on predictable concern, matching the worry that instantly flooded through their point of contact. Another hand lifted, pressing to the top of Spock’s so that it was held by both of Jim’s and they tugged gently on him. It relocated to grasp Spock’s wrist when no reply was immediately given. “ _Hey_.”

Vulcans weren’t spared the inconvenience of emotion; quite the contrary, they were as deep-feeling as humans. But with intense training, each learned to master and own any rise in irrational or chaotic impulse so that it, in turn, would not wind up dominating the thoughts or responses of the individual. It was what saved society from impending extinction long ago, and brought calm to a savage, warring desert world.

Upon birth, Spock had been given the unique _quality_ of possessing a human side…one he wished to ignore completely. He had decided early on that it was Sarek’s heritage he would follow and not Amanda’s; therefore, any rise which threatened his commitment to logical discipline was isolated and filed away during meditation as his teachings instructed him.

But at present—if only for this fleeting moment—he allowed himself to embrace the utter relief which washed over him in a colossal tidal wave. As if he’d been held under water for too long, Jim’s question relating to shore leave and _not_ a marriage bond caused Spock’s emergence from the fathoms.

Not needing to reject Jim as he’d been so many times in his life was the breath in his lungs. And Spock was breathing now, breathing like there wasn’t enough oxygen on the entire ship that could satisfy his need.

Surak would surely forgive him this once. Like Jim, Spock had walked the fine line of losing life as he knew it and faced the potential end of it all with courage. Why he’d read emotions that made him think Jim would propose an official bonding was something that he would need to resolve, but he hadn’t attempted to stop it from happening.

If that had come to pass…if Jim had really made such a proposition…it would have signaled the destruction of everything. Three years would have ended in a flash, and Spock would be gone. He’d walk straight out of Jim’s life to prevent him from making one massive mistake that could never be undone.

But at the last second, fate had bestowed mercy upon him.

Spock’s lashes parted to find Jim watching him closely, creases across his face signaling worry and confusion. This man had been nothing but an unending source of support and comfort. Jim was a master at reading him and knew when to push and when to back down. He would never knowingly back Spock into a corner or demand something Spock couldn’t give.

“Jim,” Spock breathed out, all the tension that had been pent up in his body melting away. The hand that had clenched to his trouser leg beneath the table lifted and cupped over Jim’s. “Forgive me.”

“What just happened? Are you all right?” The tender atmosphere was gone and the harshness in Jim’s voice made it seem that Spock was no longer talking to his lover, but his captain. Yet, the concern present in those hazel eyes and emanating through where they touched was what made the difference between the bridge and here.

Spock shook his head. “It appears the pollen’s effect remained with me in some ways.”

Jim’s brows pulled inward and their clasped hands lowered to the table, beside the remaining chess pieces. “McCoy said he immunized against its effects. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

Simple…it was all so simple. These last few hours had been filled with nothing but insecurity and doubt. Spock had been intoxicated, injured, and facing an existential crisis. Moments ago, he’d endured an inward, self-fabricated situation that was so stressful it could be ranked among the times his life had been threatened during the mission.

He had withstood so much strife and asymmetry in his thoughts that he’d lost focus on the one factor which would always guide him home when logic couldn’t: Jim. And now that he’d managed to worry his captain, Spock needed to rectify the matter before it got completely out of control.

After all, his decision was already made. During meditation, Spock concluded that he would remain with Jim until replaced or the mission ended. To have his mind clouded with thoughts of terminating their relationship and his eventual departure from Jim’s life was adding an unneeded layer of complexity. It was complicating everything, even himself.

For the second time in his life, Spock had been renewed. All of the sudden discord had tipped the carefully weighed rationale that balanced his emotional impulses; the equilibrium had been skewed and gratuitous uncertainty had consumed him.

But now, as Spock looked upon Jim’s apprehensive expression, his controls tightened and he was in mental harmony once more. With the intent of carrying on as usual, he needed to be himself. And more than that, Jim needed it too; he’d never just leave atypical behavior unaddressed, especially if it were Spock’s. That was proven once more with the barrage of questions.

“It was negligible,” Spock replied. “The effects are not—”

“Sickbay.”

“I beg your pardon—”

“ _Sickbay_ , Spock,” Jim reiterated strongly, his hands slipping from Spock’s grasp as he got to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Jim carried himself with a robust, authoritative stride when he was in command mode: heavy steps and swinging arms, shoulders back and chest out. It was his reaction to dealing with things that troubled him, and when Jim was like this, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Spock identified that posture immediately and was out of his chair, reaching for Jim’s nearest arm. His internal floundering about had caused this and he would be the one to end it. Spock’s fingers tightened and he gave a small pull, effectively stopping Jim in place.

Jim defensively whirled to face him and opened his mouth.

“Jim, you misunderstand,” Spock interjected.

“You’re acting strange and you’ve admitted it yourself. What more is there to understand?!”

“I have concerned you.” Spock’s chin lowered in a nod, and his shoulders fell as he expelled his breath. “For that I apologize.”

“Look.” Jim pulled himself free and placed his hands on Spock’s shoulders. “I noticed something was off with you. I know you don’t particularly enjoy sickbay—”

“That fact is irrelevant,” Spock cut in, beginning to speak at the same time as Jim. Their voices grew louder as each attempted to talk over the other.

“—but I’m not taking any chances with contamination, or your life—”

“Jim, if you would please listen for one moment—”

“—so please just cooperate this once and let Bones—”

“—for _one moment_ and I will explain—” Spock’s eyes flicked to the side and closed with an exhale, realizing this was getting him nowhere.

“—run more tests so we can be sure that—”

Spock’s hands lashed out into the air and grabbed Jim’s wrists tightly. He stiffly jerked them. “ _Jim_.”

That finally stopped Jim right in the middle of his harangue. His face was tight with frustration now and he demanded, “ _What_?”

“Neither McCoy nor M’Benga are capable of assisting me. It is not due to the substance’s presence in my system.” One brow raised. “Or lack thereof. Like you, the medication administered upon our return has removed it entirely, nullifying the physical influence.”

Jim shook his head. “Then what—”

“It is a psychological side effect, induced by the exposure. I need not remind you that I am Vulcan.” Taking a deep breath, Spock’s eyes slid to the nearest wall for a beat. What he would say would neither be a lie nor the entire truth. “The pollen has provoked the emergence of some revelations within me that could not be justified with logic.”

An exhale fell from Jim’s nose. As his spine relaxed, his hands slipped from the shoulders they grasped, freeing himself from Spock’s grip and sliding down those blue arms. The position reversed with Jim holding Spock’s wrists low and between their bodies now, but his touch was much gentler. His voice was as well. “Go on.”

“There are some things I cannot seem to remove from my thoughts at the current time—things the exposure has inspired.”

Jim’s head tilted back, concern still present. “What _things_?”

In some ways, this atmosphere stimulated memories of their first kiss. There was tension in the air and the looming possibility of failure—not to mention a strong wish to not have such a direct advance rejected. The difference was that this time, it was Spock’s face approaching Jim’s.

Similar to the thoughts Jim had during those first volatile seconds, Spock’s mind pleaded for consent. ‘ _Please simply accept it. Please do not read further into this_.’

Finding no trace of refusal, Spock tilted his head and gingerly pressed his lips to Jim’s. They lingered there momentarily before he slowly withdrew far back enough to gauge his captain’s reaction. Soft as a whisper, Spock asked, “Can you now understand?”

At last, success graced Spock when he observed all of the stress that built up in Jim disappearing. Jim’s entire frame became less austere and he pushed a significant breath out. He looked down in thought for a beat and then peered back up to Spock, his bottom eyelids barely raising. “Do you need more meditation?”

Spock knew that his captain wasn’t naive; the emotional feedback confirmed that Jim was perfectly aware of what he was alluding to. However, instead of pressuring, he was encouraging Spock to come to him on his own terms—Vulcan terms.

Shaking his head again, Spock breathed, “No.”

As his wrists slipped from Jim’s grasp, Spock stepped forward and rigidly put his arms around the muscular human shoulders. It began as a stiff embrace to draw Jim near but the firmness melted when Spock’s chin lowered. His mouth pressed against a rounded ear in which he murmured, “I only require you.”

Spock felt Jim’s hands touch the small of his back and drift up to his shoulder blades, followed by a small hum. “You’re still thinking about what happened in that field, aren’t you?” Jim’s supple cheek rubbed against his own until they were able to make eye contact. His elbows drew back, fingers dragging over Spock’s sides before he reached up and took Spock’s face in his palms. “Or should I say what _didn’t_ happen?”

While Jim’s thumbs grazed back and forth across his cheekbones like they were made of porcelain, Spock simply kept his gaze. He made no movement to confirm or deny that fact.

“I guess you’re right. Sickbay can’t fix that for you.” Jim wore a tiny smile before the inner ends of his brows raised. “Why didn’t you just say so from the beginning, Spock? You know you can tell me anything.”

Spock’s lips remained in a line, his head turned slightly to the side with his attention remaining on Jim. For a moment, he considered actually divulging everything that had tormented him; however, the affection present across Jim’s features made him decide otherwise.

“What is it?” Jim asked softly, brushing his fingers up one of Spock’s sideburns and over his ear. His digits splayed out in the short black hair at the back of his head.

Logically, it made sense. Rationality dictated that Spock shouldn’t bond with Jim—shouldn’t even be _thinking_ to bond with Jim, let alone want. There were legitimate reasons for that conclusion, which had been clearly established multiple times within this ship’s day alone. The burden of carrying an eternal bond and the sacrifice necessary for Pon Farr were two of many points from a long list.

When Spock was by himself, he could come to terms with them and agree with these justifications. He could separate himself from the emotions Jim showed him, easily deny any desires or rogue impulses, and see the situation for what it was worth. It was sensible to not involve Jim in the curses of his culture because it was sensible to protect the ones who were most cherished.

Spock had arrived at Jim’s door knowing full well that all they shared was going to end at some point. Before the entrance swished open, he’d accepted that fact.

But being in Jim’s presence was an entirely different thing from Spock secluding himself in his quarters. Being capable of feeling the unwavering love permeating from Jim’s hands and seeing the affection that filled his eyes...standing close enough to inhale his scent and experiencing the warmth that flooded Spock’s chest when Jim stroked him like he were something precious and of value… These things were inescapable.

They made everything much more complicated than Spock’s rational planning in his solitude. In the silence of his own quarters was a space where Spock commanded total control. But in this realm, logic no longer worked. And just like when Jim had kissed him on the planet, Spock began to have another epiphany—but this involved no outside stimulant other than Jim himself.

Could he ever just walk away from Jim? Was it even possible to simply pack his things, say goodbye, and leave forever? Without even trying, Jim’s heart pumped to a rhythm that beckoned Spock out of his monochrome world of _on or off_ and _yes or no_. There was no longer any logical black or white, no shades of gray—just the colors of Vulcan and Earth that made Spock consider anything could be possible.

And it was. He’d fallen in love with a human.

Hope was a foreign concept to Spock. What was, was. What would be, would be. But if he was to experience it once in his life, he decided that it would be then. He hoped to always be with Jim.

So, Spock closed his eyes, shook his head, and whispered, “Hurry. Please. I desire you.”

Clothing fell to the floor, leaving an unkempt trail of gold, blue, and black as Jim and Spock stumbled to the sleeping alcove. There was a double bed there now—an upgrade Jim had put in for while citing back pain as the cause. That, too, was neither a lie nor the entire truth.

Naked, Spock dropped to sit at the edge of the mattress. His fingertips trailed over the strong human back as Jim followed him down, never separating their mouths from the intensity of the kiss they shared. Spock leaned back against the cover and brought his legs atop the bed one by one, beginning to slide up with Jim remaining above him.

Out of breath, his head of black hair fell to the pillows and their lips parted with a gasp. Spock’s chest rose and fell as they both began grinding against each other, Jim collecting both of their erections in one hand and stroking them.

The room went hazy as Spock got lost in the sensations of Jim planting kisses on his neck and then his shoulder, next wandering to pert verdant nipples and on downward. His hands took deep fistfuls of the blanket, his gaze roaming up to the gray ceiling as Jim continued to follow his treasure trail.

Spock’s mouth opened and he pulled hard on the material in his hands…closed his eyes when he felt the heat of Jim’s mouth envelop his length.

‘ _Foolish human_ ,’ Spock thought. ‘ _You can have anyone you desire_.’ He bucked his hips, a hand releasing the cover and relocating to Jim’s hair. ‘ _So, why…?_ ’

As Jim quickened the pace, his digits tightened, pulling at the golden locks but he remained conscious to not cause pain. Overwhelmed, Spock exhaled. ‘ _Why?_ ’

The warmth instantly vanished, his cock springing back into the air from Jim’s mouth. It stood tall and stiff, a furious shade of green.

“Why what?” Jim chuckled, hooking his arms beneath Spock’s legs and kissing the inside of his thighs.

Spock’s eyes snapped opened, realizing he had actually vocalized his one-worded inquiry.

“You’re in such a rush, Spock,” Jim muttered through the sloppy pursing of his mouth against sensitive skin before lifting his face. “I can’t imagine what you were going through planet-side.”

“I assure you, Jim.” Spock shuddered when he felt a hand take him and begin to stroke. “You could not begin to comprehend.”

Jim huffed. “That sounds like a challenge. Turn over.”

Spock’s face pushed against the soft pillow, his fingers digging deeply into the cover as Jim’s hands massaged his back and finally fell lower and lower. He exhaled and softly moaned—clenched the blanket while Jim took his time, readying his body with his tongue and digits.

At last, the bottle of slick was tossed to the side, landing somewhere obscure with a clunk. A slow but unrelenting pressure followed. Spock’s knuckles went white until Jim was fully inside and his hands fell over the top of Spock’s own. Slender Vulcan fingers unclamped little-by-little and stretched out, human ones filing in between.

Jim kept still, running his bottom lip over the edge of Spock’s left ear. “Feels so good,” he breathed into it. “Are you ready?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Spock choked out and willingly surrendered to being loved by this man who caressed and adored and exalted him as no one ever had—and no one ever could or would again.

He eventually wound up on his back, legs hiked up over Jim’s shoulders as they moved in perfect harmony with their foreheads pressed together. Their hands were clasped together tightly, pressing against the pillow until Jim’s unraveled and planted straight into the mattress.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded.

Spock could only oblige and soon after, the entire universe shattered into a supernova of silver glitter behind his eyes. Small sounds left his mouth along with Jim’s name, and all Spock knew after that was love.

“Captain’s Very Personal Log, Stardate Ouch.” The washcloth Jim used to clean Spock and himself up was discarded in the laundry chute. “Note to self,” Jim said, continuing on with his mock log entry. He squeezed into the small space between the larger mattress and side storage, and managed to procure a heavier blanket. “Never challenge a Vulcan.”

The opposite end of the cover was tossed into the air and guided back down by the side Jim held to. Spock watched it descend over him and then turned his attention to Jim crawling on the bed. The open drawer was shut with his foot.

“Never,” Jim huffed and collapsed face down on the bed in a heap. A muffled groan came from the pillow. “Computer, lights off.”

“We are a resilient race. I have warned you about that on several occasions,” Spock said, while the space went dark. He adjusted the cover so that it was over Jim’s naked frame. “However, you often choose to ignore my sound advice.”

Jim turned his head to look at him. “Not on the bridge,” he countered, a playful defensiveness in his tone.

“I am not referring to the bridge, Captain.”

Spock was on his side, his gaze soft and his hand resting palm-down between them.

“No,” Jim agreed with a grin. Those two stubborn pieces of hair had fallen across his forehead again. “You’re definitely not.” He reached for Spock’s hand, cupped it gently, and began to stroke. “Without you, I’d be lost. Everyone would be.”

Spock’s brows drew in and he dwelled on this thought before he responded. “I am not the navigator.”

Jim closed his eyes and he laughed. He nudged the pillow with his nose before taking a deep breath and flipping onto his back. A groan escaped him as his body sunk into the comfort of the mattress, and he chuckled again.

“I do not understand.”

“What? About the fact that this ship needs you?” Jim was wearing a familiar smile. “Or that I do?”

There was conspicuous weight in those words and Spock considered them as he studied Jim’s face. “You speak as though my contributions are irreplaceable. Any other with the required knowledge would be capable of doing the same.”

“ _Any other_ is not you, Spock.” An arm slid beneath him to pull him close, and he settled next to Jim with his head on his shoulder. Despite his nakedness, Spock was comfortably warm with the help of Jim’s natural body heat and the extra covers.

Jim’s hand found his own and pulled it up to his chest. He held it there over his heart, his thumb rubbing small circles against it. He lifted his chin, his sights wandering up to the large window above the bed. “Let me tell you something. Look out there.”

Spock tilted his head back, his mouth opening from the slight stretch in his neck.

“Look at all those stars,” Jim remarked quietly. “When I was a kid back in Iowa…heh. I remember it like it was yesterday, though I must’ve been four or five. My dad was on leave or something but I had him on one side of me and my mom on the other. I was walking between them both, holding their hands.”

Spock’s attention drifted down to focus on Jim’s profile as he spoke. His voice reverberated pleasantly at this close proximity.

“I remember leaving the house really late with them this one night to go in the yard.” The ends of Jim’s lips twitched and his lashes fell fondly for a moment. “It looked like someone threw a million diamonds into the sky. The stars were so bright.”

His eyes opened. “And my mom, she was explaining to me how to navigate by them, you know.” Jim turned his face, his chin bumping against Spock’s forehead. His brows furrowed a little. “Did your parents teach you like that?”

Spock exhaled through his nose. “My mother attempted to lure me into the night, but I preferred meditation.” Apparently, that had been another wrong decision, considering what it appeared Spock missed from Jim’s own story.

“Ah. Well, my mom was there, pointing at the sky and showing me different constellations. And she started telling me that just like the many trails we had around our farm, there were even more paths in the starlight. One point of light leads to another and makes a bigger picture. And because of that, she said I always have a map with me. If I ever got lost, I could just find Polaris and navigate my way back home.”

“Polaris is Earth’s North Star. I recall from my study of Terran sky charts,” Spock said. “Your mother was a wise woman to teach you at such a young age.”

“Yeah, but out here, the view from Earth doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no specific light that can guide me to the same place every time.” Jim spoke matter-of-factly, continuing to stare out the window. “They all lead from point to point, but it’s totally relative to the ship’s location. That’s why I need you.”

“I do not follow your reasoning,” Spock whispered.

Jim released the hand he held, leaving it to rest over his heart. He moved back just enough to press his fingertips beneath Spock’s chin and lift it.

“You’re the only one who always brings me home.” His thumb ran across Spock’s lower lip and Jim pressed a kiss to his forehead. He relaxed against the pillow then and several seconds of silence passed. “You never did answer my question before.”

“Your question,” Spock repeated. “Regarding joining you on shore leave?”

“Mmhmm,” Jim sighed.

It was curious. Though Jim was relaxed and showing symptoms of tiredness, the same anticipation and excitement from earlier coursed through their contact. Spock could detect a trace of apprehension as well, and decided that Jim badly wished for him to accept the invitation.

Emotionalism was troublesome; that much had always been obvious to Spock. But now, after everything Jim had just told him and all he had felt during these last hours, Spock questioned the conclusion he had come to.

After all, was it not logical to proceed in the direction which every sign him pointed to? Was it not a sound decision to accept what the universe kept offering, even if it seemed unorthodox on the surface but was truly right beneath?

Could Spock truly afford to not follow this map that had been given to him, with every path leading to Jim?

“I will join you,” he answered.

Spock perceived a small surge comprised in equal parts of relief, gratitude, satisfaction, and excitement. And he began to wonder if his original assumption about Jim’s question in regards to marriage had been wrong at all.

“Thank you, Mister Spock,” Jim began in a captainly tone but ended with a yawn. “Just leave everything to me. I’ll make it the best leave ever.”

Spock really wondered—not only about Jim’s intentions, but if he, himself, could actually deny them now. He realized that if Jim asked him at this very moment for forever, it wouldn’t be how to say no that Spock would be considering…but how he _couldn’t_ say it.

He closed his eyes and settled completely into Jim’s warmth, his hand never moving from the beating heart it rested over. Hours of turbulence and unrest ended right here like this, as Spock drifted off in the embrace of affection.

The room was placid and comfortable, blanketed in darkness. There was cryptic symbolism in the disruption of that, when the light of Spock’s PADD started to blink a marine blue. It was a small flicker from where it sat on the desk, but just as ominous to the dark as the long-distance message it carried.

It was a message that would change the course of not only Spock’s life, but Jim’s as well. And that change was something that couldn’t be easily fought, if only because of who had sent it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers: [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix), [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979)  
> \- Gio Galvan for the utterly stunning art!! If you're interesting in seeing more beautiful work, please click [here](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/) and send love.  
> \- You, for reading!! <3
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock is already fragile. And everything shatters.
> 
> Featuring beautiful art by [Gio Galvan](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/) and [capt-kirks](http://capt-kirks.tumblr.com/). <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been some time! I really apologize for that. If you follow me on tumblr, you might've seen I had some craziness going on in the last month. This chapter is by far the longest yet, so I hope that makes up for the time it took to update. That being said, I'm definitely going to be regularly updating the fic but I don't know if I can swing an update every Friday as I did in the beginning. These chapters have gotten longer and longer, and on top of school it's a bit difficult. So just a heads up. <3 Thank you for understanding!!!
> 
> A heartfelt thank you also goes to [capt-kirks](http://capt-kirks.tumblr.com/) and [Gio](http://giogalvan15.tumblr.com/) for being amazing and contributing art for this chapter! (Gio's will be posted at some point over the next few days.)

**.* Chapter 6 *.**

It began with the familiar scent of jasmine flowers permeating throughout the bedroom, followed by wooden wind chimes softly clinking together in the distance. Nostalgia filled Spock’s senses with the memories of Amanda’s well-kept garden just outside of his old room, and he’d awoken nearly expecting to find himself there.

His eyelashes slowly parted to find the darkness of Jim’s quarters surrounding him. It was an odd realization to have at that particular moment, but Spock was suddenly hyperaware of how the sheets felt as though they were made of silk. While this, too, reminded him of his former bed in his parents’ home, it was disturbing as he had no recollection of such a material ever being used to dress the mattresses on the Enterprise.

The luxuriously overstuffed pillow Amanda had insisted he sleep with when he was a child cradled Spock’s head as he turned to the side, only to discover Jim had drifted away from him during the night. There was nothing unordinary about that, but an inexplicable impression of loss flooded through him at the sight anyway—accompanied by an undeniable urge to reach for Jim.

Beneath his breath, Spock mouthed his name as he extended his hand. It ghosted above the shoulder, and Spock swallowed hard, hesitating to touch; he had no wish to rouse Jim from his sleep to satisfy his own simple desire.

And yet, something deep within Spock yearned to close the space separating them—to feel the heat of Jim’s skin, hold him close, and entwine them both in a tight embrace. Spock desired to inhale the scent of Jim’s hair and absorb the love he projected that would inundate him with foreign warmth no Vulcan could ever provide.

Spock’s eyes shut to weigh the decision and then he exhaled through his nose. When they opened, his hand finally made contact with the bare skin, gently touching it like it were the antique lace his mother adorned her end tables in the sitting room with. However, Spock once again stopped, weighing if the risk of waking Jim was worth fulfilling his own needs.

Unfortunately, it appeared his further speculation came too late. The shoulder Spock softly clutched lifted as a deep breath was drawn, indicating he had been successful in doing exactly what he hadn’t wished to do. Jim was now awake.

His slender digits retreated, dropping to the sheet and slipping back to his side as Spock whispered, “Forgive me. I did not wish to wake you.”

Little by little, the figure turned in Spock’s direction and he watched with shame for having reacted to such a human impulse. His chin raised as his mouth opened to speak further apology when T’Pring’s face appeared in the very place where Jim’s should have been.

And that was when Spock realized _she_ was the one he had reached for and touched.

With a sharp gasp, Spock’s eyes snapped open. He planted his hands against the sheet and abruptly sprung himself up into a sitting position as he breathed deeply three times. His hands took fistfuls of the top blanket and squeezed until his controls began to restore themselves.

At his side, Spock felt someone stirring, and it would be untrue to deny that he’d allowed his features to take on the faint trace of horror as he slowly turned his head to find…

“Spock?” Jim asked softly, but his voice was rough from not having cleared it before speaking. He rubbed at his eye with one hand and reached for Spock’s arm with the other.

Spock stared at Jim through the darkness, squinting in confusion when the realization dawned on him and his grasp loosened on the cover. It had been a dream—an unpleasant, unsettling dream that had woken him with a start, and Jim also with his sudden movement.

“Hey,” Jim continued, fully turning to him. “Do you—ugh…” He cleared his throat and then swallowed, humming once.

“I apologize,” Spock whispered.

“No need.” A lopsided smile made its way across Jim’s face as he maneuvered himself across the cotton sheet. He looked down at how Spock’s hands had landed atop the cover and apparently drew a conclusion about why. “Are you feeling cold? Here…”

Jim pressed against the center of Spock’s chest and he gently pushed him back down. He rolled partially on top of him at a diagonal so that his head rested on Spock’s opposite shoulder, and then lazily tugged at all the blankets.

“Better?” Jim breathed through half consciousness, nosing Spock’s skin and then settling himself down for good.

The internal clock was sounding off in Spock’s mind to let him know that he should be rising at this time for his shift—and shaking Jim to force him to awaken as well. The fact that they were on leave and not required to awaken made no difference. At the same time each morning, Spock had always been compelled to free himself from the confines of Jim’s limbs wrapped about him and the warm covers. A firm schedule meant an organized life.

Instead, on this occasion, Spock’s hands lifted from where they rested on the sheet and pressed to Jim’s back. They remained there for several seconds before he gave in and slipped them across each other, holding Jim in a tight embrace.

It had always been the reverse; Spock had forever been the one being hugged and pulled into Jim’s arms—not the other way around. He was very passive in the regard of this type of physical contact, allowing Jim to engage and control such closeness.

This time was different. As Jim’s breaths became deep from drifting back off into slumber, Spock held to him possessively. His eyes were shut tightly and his muscles were stiff as he began to consider what had inspired his mind to show him something so morbid.

Of the many Surakian aphorisms written in the ancient texts, so few were as inflammatory as “ _Vulcans do not dream._ ”

Similar to other facets of pre-reform culture, not all was as it appeared on the surface. The true meaning of this saying remained shrouded in secrecy from outworlders, embedded deeply within the confines of every beating verdant heart. And for a race which pledged strict loyalty to the guidance of logic, in the heart was where that truth would remain. None would speak of it openly.

No Vulcan would ever confirm that dreaming was just as much a part of the sleep cycle as it was for Terrans.

It wasn’t exactly an obscure fabrication, to deny the existence of a natural process that often caused an emotional response. The act of dreaming could be either a figurative or literal interpretation: figurative, as in the way Terrans gazed up to the stars to fantasize about how their lives could be different, or literal, as in physically having the experience of dreaming.

And that flexibility in interpretation was the clever way to truthfully refute the assumption of “everyone dreams.” Vulcans never stood around with the reflection of the night sky in their pupils, wishing on meteorites burning up in the atmosphere.

But they did see things in their sleep. And they did have nightmares. And these facts formed yet another emotional link to a time before the reform. The emotionalism that came from dreaming was considered not only shameful but illogical.

After all, how could one _feel_ from viewing some fictional story concocted in the subconscious while the body was at rest? The notion was ridiculous.

That was what occupied Spock’s thoughts as he opened his eyes slowly to stare at the ceiling. The variance in gravity on their homeworlds made all the difference in the current position he was in; Jim’s weight upon his chest was light enough to be negligible, and the added warmth only more of a benefit.

Spock’s hand wandered up Jim’s back and into his blond hair. Why had his mind substituted him with a creature like T’Pring, and placed her right at Spock’s side? She had no wish to be there and there was nothing she shared as commonplace with Jim.

After so much indecision, Spock had finally found a sliver of peace, as temporary as he knew it to be. He had centered himself enough to function normally for the time being, so why would his mind make ripples in calm water by bringing up old wounds? Was it his subconscious reinforcing where his place and responsibilities were? He needed no reminder.

Spock thought being divided between two worlds had spread him thin enough that he couldn’t possibly ever find himself torn again. And yet, there he was, standing at another fork in the road which would once more painfully split him and leave him with a loss of identity.

He _knew_ which path he needed to take and what he would eventually need to do. However, every time he resolved that he had no option but to choose tradition over freedom, Jim’s affection wrapped itself around him in a tight embrace and pulled him back from that direction. It caused Spock to question everything, to doubt himself and the ultimate conclusion he drew about their relationship.

When Spock was alone, the answer was clear. But seeing the affection in Jim’s eyes and lying in bed clinging to him as if it were their last embrace muddled that logic. He knew he had to let Jim go in time, but how he could successfully separate himself when they both harbored such deep feelings was unknown—especially when their good rapport was so dire to running the ship efficiently.

Spock’s thoughts took him back to the first time when Jim’s lips pressed to his…when he had the choice of stopping all of this from happening. For the first time ever, he asked himself just how high the price of that kiss was, and if he could have ever afforded to allow it to happen.

He had no answer for that, no matter how he examined the situation. Even as the soft sounds of Jim’s breathing lulled him back to sleep, Spock continued searching for it. He eventually succumbed, making this ship’s morning the fifth time in his life when he’d ever willingly slept in.

His arms never unwound from around Jim.

A small groan brought Spock to consciousness and when his eyes opened, he found Jim pushing himself off his chest. The covers rose with him until they fell off his shoulders when Jim sat back on his heels at Spock’s side.

With a deep yawn and a stretch, Jim was still in a haze of sleepiness when he looked around the room, asking, “What time…?”

In unison, they both replied to that question. As Spock had his internal timing mechanism, the answer was no surprise but Jim exclaimed his the moment his tired gaze met the chronometer.

“Eleven hundred hours?!”

While he rubbed at his eyes and blinked hard after, Jim quietly laughed. “I’m so sorry, Spock.” His voice was still rough from disuse and his hands fell to his bent knees. “Did I keep you pinned there this whole time?”

Shaking his head, Spock sat up fully. Only his lower half remained covered by the blankets and his nose came within close proximity to Jim’s shoulder. Their eyes met. “I believe Doctor McCoy’s intention in issuing one day of leave was rest.”

Jim hummed and leaned forward to press a small kiss to Spock’s lips before clumsily crawling to the foot of the bed and slipping off the side.

“Computer, lights at—at—” he yawned, stretching his arms up into the air and giving Spock a perfect view of his naked body from the back. “—fifty percent. Raise temperature two degrees.”

The space illuminated softly as Jim fumbled the few steps over to a stack of drawers. From the top, he procured a fresh pair of briefs that he slipped into, and then pulled out another from the one beneath it. Tossing the garment into Spock’s hands, he then headed over to the closet. At the far side, he removed a black article which dangled from a hanger.

Spock slipped into his underwear and when he stood up from the bed, he pushed his hands through the arms of the robe Jim held out to him.

“Mind if I wash up first?” Jim mumbled, adjusting the fabric on Spock’s shoulders so it sat correctly on him.

Spock tied the belt around his thin waist to secure it. “I do not.”

The feeling of warm hands leaving his shoulders inspired him to turn around and watch Jim disappear into the small space which joined their quarters. Spock’s eyes lingered on the door when it automatically shut and then he looked around.

He supposed it was strange in some ways to call this place Jim’s quarters alone. Technically, they were. They’d been officially assigned to him and for as far as anyone knew, he was the only one occupying the space. However, so many of Spock’s personal belongings had gravitated here: his undergarments, his socks, several clean uniforms, another pair of boots… One thing after another found its place on this side. Instead of this annoying Jim, he seemed to take delight in it.

A somber expression crossed Spock’s face as he approached the drawers to remove thermal leggings and a pair of socks. He quickly slipped them on beneath his robe and then drifted over to the workspace.

The blue light of his PADD was flashing and he cocked his head to the side, immediately recognizing a priority message was waiting for him. He picked up the device, unlocked it with the fingerprint scanner, and pulled up the mail application.

As expected, correspondence from Amanda awaited him.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Stardate 42812.626_

_March 27, 2269 8:07:43AM VST_

_Subject: Urgent Request_

_Spock,_

_I hope this message finds you well, my son. I am writing because there is news of great and timely importance to relay. I am unable to disclose it over written word as it is much too complicated and I wish for your father to be present at that time._

_Complications with his health have arisen recently and he is currently on leave from ambassadorial duties for the next nine days, beginning from the date this message was sent. I understand delivery time is completely dependent upon your location in the quadrant, but I hope this information reaches you before he must return to duty._

_Please file a request to make video contact with us as soon as possible so that we may speak with you in real time. I can assure you it is something you will want to hear while we are face to face._

_Until then, be safe in your travels, Spock._

 

_With Warmest Regards,_

_Mother_

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Spock felt two arms wrapping around his midsection and the side of Jim’s face pressing to his shoulder blade. From behind him, he heard, “Anything important happening?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Spock lowered the PADD. “It appears my father is in poor health once more.”

Instantly, Jim released him and stepped forward so that they could look at each other. He wore a white towel over the back of his neck and an expression of concern across his features. “Is it his heart condition again?”

Spock’s lips pulled taut as he scanned over Amanda’s cryptic message. “Unknown. My mother has requested video communication over subspace.” His eyes rose to meet Jim’s.

“Of course I’m giving you permission,” Jim immediately declared before Spock could even ask. “When are you going to contact them?”

“This ship’s night at eighteen hundred hours, if it would not interfere with any other usage of subspace channels. It appears Sarek is on leave for his condition for only three more days, and my mother wishes him to be present when we speak.”

With a nod, Jim affirmed, “Of course. Don’t worry about anything, Spock. Just do what you need to do.” His gaze wandered to the device for a moment and then back to Spock. Gently, he offered, “I’m sorry about your father…”

Spock had begun scrolling through other messages by that point and then raised his attention back to Jim. “There is nothing to express sympathy over, Jim.”

Jim’s mouth pulled into a line as he stopped to think for a moment. “Aren’t you concerned?”

“Concern is irrelevant at this time.” Spock gestured his PADD off and placed it back down on the desk. His shoulders pushed back and his spine straightened. “There is nothing more that I shall know about the situation before I make contact. Therefore, it is only logical to not dwell on the possibilities.”

“Ah,” Jim replied with a nod, reaching up to take both ends of the towel in his hands and pulling on each to massage the back of his neck. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope everything’s all right.”

Closing his eyes, Spock nodded once and then turned for the bathroom. Just as the door opened, Jim called after him, “Lunch in the mess today, Mister Spock?”

Spock stopped and looked at him. “Very well.”

And then he stepped inside, causing the entrance to swish shut and leaving Jim standing alone in the middle of his quarters. Spock’s eyes closed as he considered the ease of having a conversation with Jim while he was wearing nothing more than a pair of briefs and a towel.

…Incredible.

Unplanned leave was more often a sentence than a blessing for Jim. His pre-scheduled days of rest were easier to handle because he knew when they were coming and could plan his time accordingly. This day, however, was much different. He pushed his arms through his green shirt and then pulled it down and over his head, looking in the mirror afterward to fix his hair.

It had everything to do with Spock being off duty with him. That fact by itself caused a jolt of excitement to course through Jim as he smoothed out his shirt and then strode through the door. Once in the corridor, he briskly walked to the lift and called it. To avoid rousing suspicion, Spock and he had agreed to arrive at the mess hall separately.

Jim knew they were only fighting the inevitable. It had to have been obvious to anyone looking in their general direction that he and Spock spent a great deal of time together, both on and off shift. But no one else could know just how close they actually were. Not yet, at least.

On that more personal level, Jim thought about having actually slept in like they did… It was a first. And if Jim could have it his way, he would do it again. It was nearly too pleasant a feeling to just exist for once without being needed anywhere. But more than that, waking up on top of Spock without an alarm blaring in his ears was better than he’d even imagined.

The lift arrived and Jim stepped inside. Feeling completely relaxed, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, finally announcing, “Deck six.”

One floor away would have been a simple climb down, but Jim was feeling a little more indulgent than usual. The trip was quick and within seconds, the doors were splitting open. As he began taking his leave, Rand walked forward with her eyes glued to her PADD and she bumped right into him.

“Oh, excuse me!” she exclaimed, looking up and immediately adding his rank when she realized who she’d collided with, “Captain! I didn’t expect…”

“No harm no foul, Yeoman,” Jim said, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

“I just received yesterday’s report and early test results from Lieutenant Fujinami, Sir. I was reviewing it and was actually just about to send it to you. For lack of a better word, it’s…” She shook her head and laughed. “ _Fascinating_!”

The smile remained on Jim’s face as he studied Rand’s enthusiasm and finally said softly, “Thank you.”

She looked up from her PADD, her blue eyes wide with spirit. With a nod, she bade him farewell with a cordial, “Captain,” before vanishing into the lift.

Jim huffed out a breath and tilted his head to the side before continuing on his way. A capable crewmember like Rand had a better destiny than settling for administrative tasks. It had been his opinion from the day they’d met but she was transferred off ship before Jim could do anything about it.

He had been pleased to learn of her returning to his team at the beginning of their final year, and vowed to get that woman promoted—and soon. The science team could always use someone with that amount of passion.

A pair of double doors split, to the delight of his fiercely growling stomach, and Jim entered the mess hall. It was just after 12:00 and the room had filled up well enough already, but a miracle was bestowed upon him: there were no lines to use any of the synthesizers. Little victories were worth celebrating, so he grinned widely.

After punching a code in, Jim removed his tray and scanned the space to find just the person he was looking for, sitting in the usual location. He approached the table, placed his lunch down, and slid into the chair. Jim crossed his arms, leaned back, and waited with a smug expression.

“All right, all right,” McCoy sighed, pushing salad around his plate with a fork before lifting his eyes. “You came here to gloat and I’ll let you. This time.”

With a soft laugh, Jim leaned forward and picked up his sandwich. “When did you become such a sadist, Bones?”

McCoy’s brow lifted. “How do you mean?”

“I bet you _wanted_ my weight to be up again. Would’ve given you a legitimate opportunity to yell at me.”

“That’s just ridiculous!” McCoy’s fist banged on the table, ignoring the laugh he received in return. “Now listen here, _O Captain_ , _my Captain_. Someone around these parts needs to give a damn about your health. Preferably, it’d be you—hey, Spock.”

The chair beside Jim was pulled out and Spock slipped in it. “Doctor.” He turned to Jim with a nod. “Captain.”

“But since you’re too damn busy _runnin_ ’ off to play hero all the time, that responsibility falls on me,” McCoy finished, closing his eyes and lifting his glass. Before he drank, he added, “You create your own problems if you don’t like being nagged.”

“Nagged?” Spock repeated, lifting an eyebrow and then looking over at Jim.

“Don’t pay him any mind, Spock. McCoy’s just upset that my weight is down and now he can’t lecture me or force me to eat salad.”

“This man is our captain, Spock,” McCoy snapped, tossing his hand into the air with his fingertips spread and palm pointing to Jim. “Boldly challenges hostile aliens but is scared of lettuce on a plate. God help us all.”

“Pardon me, Doctor,” Spock said with disinterest. “How does an individual’s preference in sustenance affect his ability to command?”

“Always asking the right questions, Mister Spock…” Jim’s brows raised with a smirk before he took a bite of his sandwich.

McCoy leaned back in his chair, just shaking his head. “I should’ve known you’d choose his side, Spock. The both of you are joined at the hip in every other way.”

“Jealous?” Jim asked.

“No.” McCoy casually reached forward, tilting his empty glass back and forth on the table to create little tapping sounds. “Just wonderin’ why you can’t pick up some of each other’s good habits, is all. You’d think after four years, you, Jim, would learn some nutritional sense and Spock over there would learn how to smile. That’s apparently askin’ too much, though.”

“Hm,” Jim offered, while chewing. He swallowed and said, “I’ll think about it.”

“You’d think _I_ would learn to just accept it at some point. But that’s not gonna happen, because I’m not givin’ up,” McCoy declared, his eyes raising to both of them to find Jim taking another bite and Spock drinking. “Not on you, and _not_ on you.” His attention fell to Spock’s cup. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you I like that cup, Spock.”

Spock placed it down on his tray and lifted a brow. He picked up his spoon and stirred his bowl of Plomeek soup.

“Almost bought one myself like that on Praxara Prime. Actually, I wasn’t aware you joined us on shore leave that time.” McCoy’s gaze lifted to how both Jim and Spock seemed to avoid that statement. Once several seconds of silence went by, he straightened his tray up and then stood. “Well, gentlemen, I suggest you spend your leave getting that rest I ordered.”

Jim nodded with a grin. “Comm me when you get some down time later and I’ll come by.”

“You got it, Jim.”

“Ah, yes. Doctor McCoy.” Spock’s chin inclined. “Per my conversation with Engineer Scott, I am under ethical obligation to inform you of the concern he expressed.”

McCoy’s voice dropped to a low drawl. “What concern?”

“It appears the engineer believes your penchant for relentless worry may result in an aneurysm.”

“Damn that man,” McCoy growled. “He thinks this is a game. Wait until I find him in one of those Jefferies tubes today. Just wait. He won’t even know what hit him.”

With that, McCoy walked off, leaving Jim and Spock sitting together amid the bustling of the crowded room. Jim looked to Spock, watching him quietly as he drank. When Spock noticed he was being observed, he slowly pulled the cup from his shapely lips and set it down.

“Well, it _is_ a nice cup, Mister Spock…”

Spock’s eyes instantly slid away, and then he resumed eating. He ignored the soft laugh that left Jim’s lips when the slightest touch of green colored his cheeks.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Captain?” Spock turned his attention to Jim as the doors to the mess hall closed behind them. Side-by-side, they began walking down the corridor.

“Your face,” Jim replied, a strip of white teeth flashing as a grin pulled at his cheeks.

Spock’s eyes barely widened and his breath hitched. He quickly looked around them to ensure no one was within earshot and dropped the volume of his voice to insist, “I hardly find this to be the pl—”

“During _chess_ , Spock. Specifically, the look you’ll have when you’ve been outwitted by an emotional human once more.”

Making himself as tall as he could to recover his professionalism, Spock tightly clasped his hands behind his back and looked off to the side. So many uncertainties dwelled within him, and at the center of them all was Jim.

Spock pushed them away and cocked his head to the side. “Idle threats, Captain?”

Beside him, Jim chuckled. “We’ll see. But first…” He hung a sharp left, pushing his shoulder against Spock’s arm and turning them both to face a wide entrance. The motion triggered the doors to slide open, granting them access to level six’s observation deck.

The room stretched out far and wide, with plenty of space to fulfill its design purpose of imitating a Terran park at nighttime. Trees, bushes, and shrubs had been transplanted to create a natural setting, with sandstone blocks forming winding paths through the foliage. The walkways split in different directions and were lined with benches and toggled devices simulating lampposts. Above their heads, the black ceiling with artificial lighting replicated the exact positioning of the stars over San Francisco.

While many crewmembers took comfort in the nostalgia of Earth here, Jim found the real beauty of this space in what lied beyond the hull’s safety. The perimeter walls dividing the inside from out were entirely made of large transparent aluminum panels, running the near full length from floor to ceiling. The edges were fixated by heavy duty black frames with rounded corners which blended into the dark colors throughout the room.

The panoramic sight they provided was as utterly stunning as it was enticing. For as large as it was, even the bridge’s main viewer couldn’t compare to the experience of passively taking in the cosmos on the observation deck. No instrumentation was present—no chatter, no sounds of equipment.

Complemented by silence, these windows opened portals to other locations in the mind of anyone who gazed out them. Here, the galaxy that laid beyond the ship’s boundaries was simply an open canvas, existing to project any thought or idea upon. As Spock’s inner self unwound during meditation by kneeling on his mat and lighting a candle, this was how Jim’s did the same.

Out there, amid the diverse colors in the universe’s portrait, was where Jim’s desires, dreams, and heart were. And as Spock followed him down the path leading to the one bench they frequented, he reminded himself of that.

Predictably, Jim’s preferred place to sit was on the outskirts of the park display, upon a bench facing one of those large windows. His hand waved downward before the tiny green sensor attached to the nearest lamppost, dimming the light to darkness.

“Never could pass up this view,” he admitted, sitting down and stretching both arms along the back of the bench. The room was barely occupied and none of the present crew were near this location; Jim took that as a liberty to relax a little further than he often would when others were around him.

Spock sat down to Jim’s right, focusing his attention on the lights which flecked the darkness of the galaxy encompassing them. In the reflection of the transparent aluminum, he could see Jim draw in a deep breath while a contented smile crossed his features.

“All I ask…” Jim began slowly before he paused to sit up straight. His forearms slipped forward and his hands landed in his lap when he turned his face to Spock. “…is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. You remember that line?”

“Masefield,” Spock said with a nod. “A quote from his poem _Sea-Fever_. In fact, it was included in the first book you suggested I borrow from your collection.”

Jim pushed a breath out through his nose before his gaze fell to Spock’s knees and then returned to the scenery of stars. “Did I ever tell you what I used to do when I was really young?”

Spock knew that to be a rhetorical question, and allowed Jim to simply continue.

“I had this huge interest in outdated forms of transit.” Jim’s brows raised momentarily as he thought back on it. “Ships which crossed oceans. Planes that flew in the sky. I used to ignore my parents all the time when they told me to go to bed because I was always playing with models. As you can imagine, that never ended well.”

Spock listened carefully; in fact, he was completely unable to picture that situation. When he was an adolescent, he had been nothing but obedient to his parents’ rules. The first and only time Spock had disobeyed Sarek was when he joined Starfleet, and that had resulted in him being written off. Stories of Jim’s childhood were much brighter than his own, so he kept his thoughts trained to those memories instead.

“Eventually, I’d give in and my parents would think they won since I wound up in my bed. But you know me…” A mischievous smirk pulled at the ends of Jim’s mouth. “Instead of sleeping, I’d lie there and let my imagination run wild. I couldn’t accurately mimic the shape of a starship with my hand, so instead I’d make it take the form of an old fighter plane.”

“A military vessel?” Spock’s inquiry was laced with a minute amount of shock.

“Yeah. I don’t like what they were used for, but they were beautiful pieces of engineering for that time period. The one I liked most was called the F-14 Tomcat. So, I’d be in bed, waving my hand in the air and pretending to fly this plane around the stars.”

“That is…” Spock shook his head and exhaled, “ _entirely_ illogical. Such a craft had no ability to operate in the vacuum of space.”

A genuine laugh left Jim—the kind that made him sound so full of life and inspired a strange warmth to augment within Spock.

“I knew that was coming at some point! But just hear me out. Even before I knew anything about the academy or Starfleet or what it took to be a captain, I knew that this was where I belonged.” Jim nodded toward the window. “Out here. I’d imagine flying my plane across the galaxy…or sailing a ship over an ocean of stars. And I just knew somehow that this life I’m living today was my destiny.”

He looked at Spock with a quiet smile.

A pointed brow raised. “I cannot say that your belief in destiny or the fact you accept that it revealed itself to you in the form of imagination comes as a surprise to me.”

“Ah, Spock. You have no idea where this took me, when I was just a kid confined to his bed against his will.” Jim lifted his hand between where they both sat with his palm parallel to the floor. His thumb and pinky finger stretched out to mock wings of a plane…and then he thrust his hand up.

Spock’s eyes followed as it followed a half-circle before descending and sweeping through the air. Jim got to his feet, taking several steps forward so that his palm could ghost just above the window. As it moved across the surface, Spock stood and approached with his hands folded behind him again.

“Antares, Bellatrix, Pollux…” Jim’s makeshift plane slowly drifted over the transparent aluminum. “Sirius, Rigel, Gemma… You see, this ship right here was all I needed when I couldn’t have a real one.” As Jim went on, his hand pulled away from the backdrop of stars and glided through the air in Spock’s direction. “I could always count on it to take me…” It slowed until his fingertips gently pressed against the place Spock’s heart beat in his side, and he quietly finished his thought. “…everywhere I wanted to go most.”

Jim’s lips twitched softly and his hand fell, finally releasing the form it assumed for his demonstration. “See? Some things are just meant to be.”

Spock swallowed hard, and slightly tilted his head back. He studied the softness in Jim’s eyes and then abruptly opened his mouth. It closed immediately after.

With the furrowing of his brow, it was clear Jim’s mind was at work once more. What he was thinking, Spock couldn’t even begin to guess…but he knew for certain it was nothing related to his own thoughts. His shoulders sunk. Jim’s attention was affixed to him, so Spock looked out the window again in attempt to keep himself unreadable.

“Spock…” Jim said softly.

Spock’s eyes lingered on the magnificent display of darkness and stars, finding that he had begun to understand the appeal of this location to Jim, and why it was so easy to think here. Finally, he turned back to him.

“Chess?” Jim’s offer was quiet, complete with a warm smile.

Tilting his head forward in a nod, Spock’s hands grasped each other tightly behind his back and he replied, “Very well.”

Quietly, they walked along the same sandstone path they’d taken earlier and arrived on the other side of the park display. The doors to the corridor split open, pouring in light that suddenly was much too harsh compared to the darkness they’d been exposed to.

Jim closed his eyes upon exiting, blinked several times, and led the way down the long hall filled with crew members busily moving about. Shift rotation was still in progress for lunch breaks, and the atmosphere was filled with casual conversations and laughter.

As he often did, Spock kept to himself. His attention was affixed to one point straight ahead of him and never wandered. He never actively engaged with others unless he was either spoken to first or had a reason to speak.

“Commander Spock?”

The voice that came from behind caused Spock to stop in his tracks, pivoting to find a woman in a blue tunic standing to the side several paces away. When he faced her, she closed the space between them.

“Commander.” She greeted him, and then looked at Jim when he arrived at his side. “Captain. I’m sorry for disturbing you both, but I had a question. Is this a bad time?”

Spock looked at Jim and received a quick shake of the head as an answer.

“Not at all, Ensign Arte. Proceed with your inquiry.”

“Thank you, Sir. I was planning to message you when I returned to my station, but since I saw you here…” Her stance was strong and sure despite her rank, and Spock admired her confidence. She lifted the PADD that she’d been holding next to her right hip and presented it to him. “I wanted to ask for your opinion on this.”

Spock’s right brow raised when he peered at it. “This data is from the comet sample?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ve already run it by Lieutenant Okafor and the exobiology team. Their responses were similar to yours…and that leads me to believe these are microbes which haven’t been catalogued yet. I was hoping you’d be able to come to the lab when you have time to verify it.”

A deep breath was sucked in between Jim’s lips and he looked up at her from the PADD. “Good work, Ensign. I hope you have a few names picked out.”

Arte beamed. “Thank you, Sir! I’m trying not to get too excited until I know for sure. This would be my first discovery.”

“Well, I couldn’t be the cause of delay.” Jim glanced up at Spock. “Mister Spock, if you have the time now, don’t keep the ensign in suspense on my account.”

“Very well,” Spock agreed.

“Oh, is it really all right?” Arte asked, glancing between them. “I didn’t mean for you to come with me now, Commander. I know how busy you are…”

“There is an old Terran saying, Ensign, which is ‘ _there is no time like the present_.’ I believe such a saying applies to this very moment,” Spock replied. “I shall accompany you now.”

“Just one request before you go,” Jim cut in. “I’d like to assign Yeoman Rand to this project. Even though she’s not on the science team, I want you to involve her in the process. Show her the ropes, get her feet wet.”

“Certainly, Sir!” Arte replied. “I’ll comm her as soon as I arrive at the lab.”

“Perfect.” Jim looked up at Spock. “I’ll be filing mission reports. Feel free to contact me if I’m needed, but I’m positive that between all three of you and the exobiology team, it’s a done deal.”

Spock nodded and acknowledged, “Sir.”

With that, the pair set off in the opposite direction. When they were several steps away, Jim called, “Oh, and Ensign!”

She stopped and turned to Jim.

He flashed a smile that managed to outshine every light in the entire corridor. “Congratulations again!”

The same smile pulled widely at Arte’s cheeks and she replied with a proud, “Thank you, Captain!” before resuming on her way.

With that, Jim about-faced and walked off in the opposite direction.

The lights were automatically raised to eighty percent as soon as the door opened to grant Jim entrance to his quarters.

“Computer, privacy lock,” he commanded, giving his shoulders a good roll to soothe the muscles which wound up a bit stiff from having lain on top of Spock for so long—not that he minded. Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, Jim sauntered over to the desk and swiped a digit over his PADD. It unlocked with the recognition of his fingerprint and he began quickly scrolling through messages while continuing to massage himself.

Jim sat down in his chair, watching as the day’s news appeared before he abruptly stopped the process and placed the device flat on the desk. His eyes wandered over to the small table pushed against the wall with their halfway set up chess game and he stared at it for several moments in thought.

His sudden low laugh disturbed the silence of the room. “ _Shore leave_.” A heavy sigh left Jim’s lips and he shook his head. What a save that suggestion had been.

Drawing a deep breath, he raised a hand to cover his eyes and then swept it back into his hair. The action caused the same culprits to break form; those two stubborn wispy bangs which always popped out of place fell over his forehead once more, and Jim simply surrendered to their disarray. There were more important matters occupying his thoughts than his appearance needling at him.

He was on his feet again, approaching the table and reaching for Spock’s ivory king standing proudly on the surface. Studying it, his lips eased up into a soft smile.

It hadn’t been a lie. The invitation for Spock to join him on their quickly approaching leave was an offer Jim had intended on making when the time was right, but it hadn’t been the only question on his mind then. Jim grasped the piece tighter at that thought before replacing it on the table.

He’d almost blown the whole thing. _That_ would’ve made for an interesting turn of events, but Spock deserved better. In fact, Spock deserved only the best, and whenever it was in his control, Jim would make sure he got it.

It would have to be on shore leave, then. Jim would make a big to-do of it as he’d originally planned, but even kick things up a notch now. He knew it was possible that Spock had read his emotions last night when he took his hand—that Spock had possibly read his indecision and the excitement he felt.

For the millionth time, Jim acknowledged that being in a relationship with a telepath had its perks, but it certainly made hiding things more challenging. It wasn’t even that he had anything to ever really conceal from the perspective of fidelity. As for some other things…

After the commencement of their personal association, there was nothing but total truth from Jim where his regard for Spock had been concerned. He’d been sure to display openness with his affection and past, minding the delivery of it all to not become overbearing to one who wasn’t as emotionally inclined as he, himself, was.

Still, Jim refused to hide things that most might have. Being the captain of a starship demanded more than just leading and quick decision making; it required him to be social, flirtatious, and manipulative of others at times, especially if the Enterprise or his crew was in danger. It meant his total commitment to the ship and doing whatever it took to accomplish difficult missions—even if that called for the taste of someone else’s kiss on his lips.

It was awkward and uncomfortable. However, if forced to put forth his charms in the name of Starfleet, Jim was genuine with outright confessing the details afterward and then urging where his heart truly was. He spoke directly of his encounters to prevent Spock from discovering them in reports or through hearsay in the corridors.

Fortunately, it seemed Spock had understood the demands of Jim’s role. He never held these rare instances of forced infidelity against Jim, and in some strange ways, it seemed these times actually brought them closer together. Exposure to someone else made Jim realize just how deeply he loved Spock, and how no one could ever take his place. It made him work even harder to prove that.

By obligation, he did what he had to do as demanded by his position as captain. But once that was no longer a factor, it was by choice that Jim was loyal to Spock.

And he was.

However, there were some things Jim _did_ attempt to conceal from Spock, but they had very little to do with their relationship. As a human, he dealt with a broad spectrum of emotions that were, without doubt, unfavorable and even taxing to Vulcans. They often arose in response to difficult circumstances involving his crew or longstanding inner struggles.

He wasn’t naive. Jim knew Spock endured these same feelings and felt just as much as anyone else, but he controlled them in a different way—the Vulcan way. That was his comfort zone, and Jim wouldn’t drag him out of it just to make himself feel better.

Early on, he’d decided that protecting Spock was more important to him than tending to himself. Jim had become aware of only some of the things Spock went through and decided enough was enough…that it was time for someone to put him first for once and simply just love him as he was.

Jim was strong enough bear the burden of most emotional weight on his own. What he hid didn’t involve Spock, and so Jim thought it best to spare involving him at all.

However, what he concealed now was entirely attributable to their relationship. It was bizarre, having to keep something from Spock, but it would be worth it in the end.

Jim nudged his onyx king until it pressed against Spock’s, and then returned to his desk. He picked up his PADD and began in-depth research of Risa, looking for the most beautiful places, browsing the most luxurious hotel suites, and plotting in his mind when and where it would all happen.

Warmth spread through him as he began making reservations, growing more and more grateful that he’d kept his self-control in check last night. After all, asking the kind of question that was on his mind over chess wasn’t exactly the best game plan—not when Jim had a different strategy altogether.

Everything—the mood, the setting, the atmosphere—would reflect what Jim saw when he looked at Spock: perfection. And Jim would be damn sure to make it such a vivid memory they’d both carry with them forever…so that neither would ever forget the exact time and place when James Kirk fell to one knee and asked for the absolute privilege of spending the rest of his life with Spock.

With a final confirmation, the trip was arranged and Jim leaned back in his chair. For as long as his heart kept beating, he would adore and comfort and look after Spock…would wake up next to him every morning with a smile and tell him he was being silly when he denied his human half…would make the time to do everything with him or nothing at all…would ensure he was eating and sleeping enough…would treat Spock like the utter treasure he was, with the respect and honor and dignity he deserved.

Jim closed his eyes and smiled. If this was how the rest of his life was going to be, he would never wish for another thing for as long as he lived. And he planned on doing that for a long, long time.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/fOn6Td5.png)

(This absolutely stunning art is by the amazing [capt-kirks](http://capt-kirks.tumblr.com/)!!)

Spock’s visit to Xenobiology Lab 3 had lasted longer than anticipated—by choice. Ensign Arte had been correct; her discovery was new to their database of known life, and thus required careful cataloging. Spock could have left the responsibility to Lieutenant Okafor or another higher ranking officer on the team, but the eagerness in the eyes of Ensign Arte and Yeoman Rand caused him to stay.

There was also the fact that he needed time to himself to think.

Chess with Jim could be delayed, Spock reasoned as the three of them had gone to work with him taking the time to explain relevant parts of the procedure to Rand. After all, it had been early ship’s afternoon and he could spend the rest of his time after with Jim.

…That thought made him acknowledge something that perhaps he hadn’t noticed earlier: a pattern. As Spock pulled up the necessary documentation on his PADD for them to begin filling out, he started considering just how much of his schedule revolved around planning for Jim’s company.

With the need to take things slowly since he was working with crewmembers who were new to this task, the afternoon hours were quickly consumed. By the time they’d finished, it was just after 17:30—right in the middle of the first dinner shift.

With a final nod, Spock concluded their labor. “It has been completed. Your discovery has been reported and named, Ensign. You are now officially listed as a contributor in the Starfleet Lifeform Database.”

“Thank you for all of your help, Commander,” Arte said. “I really appreciate it. Yours too, Janice.” The brightness of her face had dulled by now, which Spock attributed to fatigue; it wasn’t easy to stare into a microscope for long periods of time. Even Rand was looking a bit tired. Though Spock hadn’t ever been affected in this way, he could at least understand why humans were.

“There is no need,” Spock replied. “I shall take my leave of you.”

As Spock made his way down the corridor to the lift, he realized the opportunity to eat dinner with Jim again would be missed; perhaps, it was for the best at this time. He would speak with his parents, assess the situation with Sarek’s health, and spend time in the relief of meditation that his mind badly needed.

Something of great importance had occurred to Spock as he worked in the lab; he’d realized in full-force how his expectations from the prior evening had been entirely incorrect. As a telepath, he was under moral oath to not read another without explicit permission. Jim had consented to that long ago, out of both an act of security for the ship and one of intimacy.

It wasn’t Jim’s not knowing which caused him strife. Rather, the heart of the matter was this: Spock had thought his reading of Jim’s emotions had been wildly inaccurate. He’d expected to hear Jim say something completely different both times he detected nervousness and excitement from him.

To believe one was about to offer a marriage proposal, but find out it was a mere invitation to shore leave was ludicrous. Truthfully, Spock had found it difficult to swallow the sensation of foolishness that threatened to offset his balance, and began to consider that perhaps his behavior around Jim was becoming much more emotional than he’d ever realized.

As he called the lift, his thoughts returned to how he fell asleep against Jim’s warmth, drifting off with the silent admission that he wouldn’t have been able to deny Jim if he’d actually asked…not now, while their mission was still on-going. Despite that, Spock’s inability to have said either yes _or_ no comfortably was as frightening as it was illogical.

It was fortunate that Jim’s inquiry pertained to vacation and not marriage, but the way in which Spock had reacted also raised one massive red alert within him. How could he so quickly go from one extreme to the other? He’d never experienced something this volatile in his life, never had trouble making a decision and staying with it. Utterly polarized, Spock was being ripped apart by tradition and what he irrationally desired.

The softness in Jim’s gaze and the tenderness in his touch was of no help to the condition. They nullified all of Spock’s rationale that was established when he was alone, made him drown in an uprising of guilt when he acknowledged just how much Jim seemed to treasure him.

How had he let this happen? He was Vulcan—logical. And yet, Spock had somehow succeeded in making Jim, his captain, love him without even trying. But it didn’t stop there, because he’d allowed his defenses to lower, allowed himself to fall right into Jim’s arms too.

How had his personal effects wound up in Jim’s quarters? How had they begun sharing a bed and eating their meals together when possible, little-by-little entwining their lives so tightly without his noticing?

Something clicked then, and Spock realized that stimulus was the key. The affection Jim gave him was like a drug, a substance which inspired responses inside of Spock that he’d become dangerously accustomed to.

Being needed, being worth someone’s time, being wanted…they were all as addictive as they were attractive, especially for one who’d spent years being described as anything but. It was too easy to become complacent and accepting when someone freely offered these beautiful gifts, too easy to lose oneself and get caught in a day-to-day routine without ever thinking of the bigger picture.

As he stepped in the lift, Spock directed it to level five and stood in silence, fixating his eyes to the floor. He found it undesirable to lose these tiny fragments of security that had stitched together his torn soul, but it was a reality he would need to accept.

And it was only a matter of when.

Not hearing the question he’d anticipated from Jim made Spock think he had no idea what Jim’s plan was for the future. Spock had obtained peace from that fact, considering that perhaps, since Jim never spoke of his intentions, it might be agreeable to simply separate at the end of the mission as Spock had initially thought.

He’d attributed all the questions and indecisiveness to the exposure on Alkar Beta, which ignited so much uncertainty and discord within him. However, all of the eventual peace he’d gained from that point on was snuffed out when Jim brought up fate and destiny on the observation deck—when he said that some things were just _meant to be_ as he pressed to the place directly above Spock’s heart.

And since that moment, Spock had begun piecing all of these hints together to assemble a larger picture which indicated Jim might have actually done what Spock thought he might do last night.

Dread and guilt crept up his throat as he demanded again how he allowed things to go this far.

Spock decided that he owed Jim an explanation of all that had been troubling him, owed it to him to inform him that their personal relationship would need to be terminated at some point. He had no idea how that confession would be handled, and wasn’t even sure if he could continue serving aboard the Enterprise once it was out.

Spock closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the lift slowed. Why was it that every time he admitted the logic in ending what they had, emptiness threatened to consume him? He had no answer, other than he’d spent too much time around humans.

But Spock knew he was just making excuses to disguise the truth from himself; he’d come to love Jim very deeply and the thought of losing him inspired things inside of him which were entirely illogical. They were things he would never admit, even to himself. His lips pulled into a tight line as he stepped out into the corridor.

It would be only courteous to inform Jim of his plans for the evening, considering Spock _had_ agreed to chess. Since there were a few minutes before he’d be on the conference, he rang outside the captain’s quarters. The door slid open.

At his desk, Jim was busy typing away on his PADD, and he finished the sentence he’d been on before he looked up. That mischievous smile cross his face again. “Seems you just keep showing up here later and later these days, Mister Spock.”

“Forgive me,” Spock said, as Jim stood and approached him. “As the other staff members in the lab were occupied, I saw it necessary to remain and assist Ensign Arte and Yeoman Rand with the cataloging task.” Spock turned his face, watching as Jim’s arms slipped up and around neck. In attempt to act normally, he softly ended his explanation with, “…Sir.”

The pleasant look never left Jim.

“And now…” Spock continued slowly, keeping his hands firmly behind his back, “I regret that I must retreat to my quarters.”

Jim quietly nodded, staring into his eyes before Spock turned his head slightly to the side. A hand pressed gently to his cheek and brought it back to Jim.

“I forgive you,” Jim offered quietly, his mouth twitching up even further. “This time.” He leaned in, pressing their lips together before slowly retreating. The gentle expression on his face morphed to confusion as his brows pulled in when Spock didn’t respond. Jim studied him momentarily before asking, “Are you all right?”

Spock drew in a breath and slowly released it. “I believe,” he began tentatively, “…it is imperative that we speak at a later time.”

“Ah,” Jim said, with his chin tilting upward. “There’s a lot on your mind. That’s understandable. Well…” His arms slipped away from Spock and he stepped back to give him personal space. “Dinner later, then?”

“Jim…” Spock began but hadn’t had the opportunity to finish.

“There’s another Italian dish you should try. I’m positive you’ll like this one too.”

“Jim,” Spock attempted again, but when the softness returned to Jim’s features, he found himself unable to articulate what was on his mind. His shoulders lowered and he averted his gaze.

“Hey.”

That brought Spock’s attention right back to Jim.

“Listen,” Jim offered. “I know it’s difficult…the prospect of your father’s illness and not knowing how serious it is. But I just want you to know I’m here for you. All right? Anything you need, I want you to let me know, Spock.”

The minutes were slipping by, the time to the video conference drawing closer and closer, and yet Spock couldn’t stop himself from asking one heavy, loaded question at that moment. “Why?”

Jim’s brows raised and he shook his head, clearly not expecting that reply. “Why what?”

“Why must you always—” Spock paused mid-sentence and raised his eyes to the far wall before closing them for a beat. The inquiry was valid and necessary, but the time to have this conversation just wasn’t available. He straightened himself, returning his sights to Jim. “Why do you always show me such kindness?”

A tiny huff fell from Jim’s lips. “Why do you think, Spock?”

Spock’s voice lowered to a mere whisper, his gaze falling to an obscure point on the floor. “I cannot say for certain.”

“Can I speak like a typical emotional human?” Jim asked, stepping back up to him and taking the blue-clad arms gently again. When Spock nodded once, Jim moved himself so that their eyes met. This situation reminded Spock of the moment before Jim had kissed him when they were planet-side. Gone were any of the previous traces of amusement he wore earlier; they’d been replaced by total seriousness. Even Jim’s voice reflected it when he stroked the back of Spock’s neck and finally said, “I love you.”

It was difficult to explain what hearing those words did to Spock. Physically, he stood as still as a statue, but internally, his heart began to pound. He knew this. He _knew_ it, but hearing it for the first time was an entirely different thing. In turn, a chaotic flood of thoughts and emotions upheaved and battered Spock’s insides. All he could do was harden his controls as much as he possibly could to not crumble against the riptide that imperiled his entire stoic facade. If only he could keep himself together for a few more moments…

“If you don’t know that by now, Spock,” Jim quietly continued, “I’m sorry.” He lifted his other hand, brushing alongside Spock’s cheek and up his sideburn. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Please,” Spock rasped out and then swallowed anew, beginning to shake his head. “Jim, please do not…” His eyes closed.

“Go on,” Jim urged him. “Go talk to your parents. Find out how your father is, and whenever you’re ready, come talk to me. All right? Or you don’t even have to talk at all. We can just play chess.”

When Spock’s lashes parted again, all he saw before him was affection and comfort—two arms which would always catch him and give him a soft place to land. He saw both a human and an addiction he’d come to adore despite his heritage and every logical fiber of his being.

Spock saw the same person he’d been acknowledging the need to walk away from for all these hours ...the same one who had just uttered three words that turned the entire universe upside down.

He shook his head in utter defeat, overwhelmed and needing to say so much but being unable to. Jim pressed another soft kiss to his lips. When they broke apart, he repeated, “Go on, Spock. It’ll be all right.”

Slowly, Spock turned and felt Jim give a tender push to his back as he approached the door. As if he were lost, his feet dragged while he took his leave, stopping only once to look back over his shoulder before the entrance closed.

And then it did.

This price was too high, too burdensome. Spock couldn’t afford it, couldn’t afford to let go, couldn’t afford to hurt Jim. To think this entire storm had been started by a field of white flowers was incredulous, and yet it was the reality.

Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, Spock stabilized himself and walked the few paces to his quarters. For now, he would need to focus on the conference with his parents. He would need to appear in perfect condition to avoid Amanda detecting anything was off with him. She was exactly like Jim in that she always could. And on top of everything else, that was the last thing Spock needed.

Exactly fifty-two seconds remained before 18:00 when Spock entered through his own door. He went directly to his desk, swiped his PADD to wake it up, and fired up the conference application. Laying the device flat, a projection of the desktop appeared and he connected to the proper subspace channel.

As Sarek and Amanda could have no idea he would be making contact now, it would be several minutes before they answered. Spock took that time to center himself and prepare not only his mind but his entire demeanor for their conversation.

Suddenly, the image of Amanda appeared. She huddled over the device on her end, and her red lips pulled into the shape of an endearing smile. “Spock!”

“Mother,” Spock replied with a cordial nod.

“Just a moment, dear,” she said, sinking down to sit before the table while calling off to the side. “Sarek, come! Spock has made contact with us!” Amanda turned back to face Spock, with Sarek soon slipping in the view beside her.

Instantly, Spock raised his hand in the ta’al. “Dif-tor heh smusma.”

“Spock,” Sarek acknowledged, offering the same gesture.

“Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you, Spock! When did my message reach you?” Amanda inquired, blindly adjusting the ends of her dark lace headscarf.

“Just this ship’s morning,” Spock replied. “I believed now to be the most convenient time for you to establish contact.”

“Don’t be silly! Any time is the perfect time,” she replied with a smile. “You look well.”

“I am in perfect health,” Spock replied, keeping his facial features completely deadpan. “Surely, however, it is not my wellbeing that you wish to discuss.” He turned his eyes to Sarek, studying the condition of his father and not seeing anything abnormal.

“As your mother had informed you, I have been on medical leave,” Sarek confirmed.

“How serious is the condition?”

“It is not,” he replied, maintaining the same stoicism Spock showed. “While I was visiting the Parrak system, an outbreak of a native virus occurred. The doctor aboard my transport was needlessly concerned that I had been exposed it. You see, it is a disease which affects the autonomic nervous system.”

“Doctor Demir aboard the Potemkin was worried it would affect your father’s heart,” Amanda supplied. “After the condition he suffered, the risk was too great to simply ignore. So, they put him on medical leave to rest and make completely certain there was no threat to his health.”

“I am pleased to learn of this,” Spock began. “However, I fail to understand why this information needed to be disclosed over subspace conference. Surely, it would have been more efficient to report this in the message you sent, Mother.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen your face, Spock,” Amanda said.

“My duties—”

“Yes, we know. There’s no need to explain,” she replied. “And a subspace channel isn’t exactly easy to come by on short notice, depending on your mission and location. We understand this.”

“Perhaps it would be prudent to explain what the nature of this communication is regarding,” Spock offered.

Sarek reached into his robe, but Amanda’s hand fell upon his arm, stopping his action. “Wait…please.” She turned back to Spock. “Spock, before any of that, let’s catch up. It’s been so long. Have any major changes occurred in your life?”

“Specify.”

With a shake of her head, she offered casually, “Changes to your status, whether personal or professional. A promotion, perhaps? New and exciting duties? …Perhaps you met someone you care for?”

At last, Spock’s face took on the slightest appearance of confusion as his brows drew in. “There is nothing of significance to report.” He shook his head. “Why do you inquire this?”

He found himself lost, when Amanda’s shoulders lowered and her expression took on hints of not only sympathy, but something else…something which Spock wasn’t able to rightly identify. She turned her face to Sarek and nodded as her hand slipped off of his arm.

“Spock, I would show you something of importance,” Sarek announced, withdrawing a small, circular device from the confines of his chocolate brown attire. With several taps, a holo-image of a Vulcan woman appeared from the center; she was clothed in exquisite formal robes, her facial features carved by sharp and unforgiving lines.

“I do not understand. Who is this woman?” Spock asked.

“She is T’Pak,” Sarek said. “The one I have selected to be your bonded wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers: [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix), [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979)  
> \- capt-kirks for the utterly stunning art!! If you're interesting in seeing more beautiful work, please click [here](http://capt-kirks.tumblr.com/tagged/my+art) and send love.  
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> \- You, for reading!! <3
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>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's intuition told him something important as he watched Spock wander out of his quarters looking lost. In that instant, he knew that everything was going to change... except not exactly in the way he might have initially suspected. And so, the longest hour of all time began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are again. :3 I'm sorry for the time it took to post this chapter (school! KiScon! the Old Married Spirk challenge! betaing so much in the last month! oh my~!). It took much longer than I expected. However, this chapter is even lengthier than the last so I hope that makes up for it... Thank you so much for your patience!!
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to [Amara1783](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amara1783), [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979), [Pywren](http://pywren.tumblr.com), and [vgersix (DoublePlusAwesome)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doubleplusawesome/pseuds/vgersix). <3333 I appreciate everything you've done for me so much!! 
> 
>   
> And my final order of business in this note is to say that Paths in the Starlight now has a playlist if you're interested. :3
> 
>  
> 
>   
> [Listen on 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/plaidshirtjimkirk/paths-in-the-starlight)  
> 

**.* Chapter 7 *.**

“It’ll be all right.”

Jim’s hand fell gently upon Spock’s back and gave a soft push toward the door. He observed in silence, furrowing his brow as Spock seemed to wander, not walk, in the direction he was sent in. The steps he took possessed the same hesitation and uncertainty that Jim detected when he pressed their lips together only moments ago.

He would have found the sight worrisome no matter who it was; encountering the prospect of a parent suffering from a serious illness was sure to affect anyone negatively. However, there was a huge contrast between the Spock Jim knew and the one he was seeing now. This one seemed like a completely different person, one who was lost and inwardly distressed.

The telltale signs were so subtle that any other might have simply chalked them up to coldness or Vulcan nature. But Jim knew better. After daily exposure to Spock for over four years and learning the ins and outs of his character, it was clear that there was more to this picture than what met the eye.

Though he’d acted detached and unmoved while revealing the news in Amanda’s message, Jim knew Spock wasn’t spared the emotional effects on a deeper level. Despite their appearances, Vulcans were as susceptible to inner perils as any other race, but the way they dealt with them made all the difference. Jim dared not point out that he was aware of that detail, though. In fact, he would _never_ attempt to force emotion from Spock which wasn’t offered freely.

Jim didn’t need to share his bed to understand just how important his Vulcan side was to him. Logic and control, discipline and impassivity were present in every facet of Spock’s social fingerprints. They were present in his work ethic, the way he analyzed problems, and the manner in which he conducted himself both professionally and personally. It had been clear from the very start that the face Spock was comfortable with wearing on the outside was Vulcan, and to unnecessarily rip it from him would be akin to tearing the clothes off his body and leaving him stark naked.

But the face Spock wore now was very different. It didn’t radiate his ever cool, collected composure and surely didn’t reflect his stoic, unflappable self. For the first time in a long time, Spock—whether he meant to or not—appeared genuinely troubled.

And that meant something was very wrong.

When the door slid open and Spock turned his face slowly to look back, what was present in his eyes confirmed it. Jim stared at him until the entrance shut and remained perfectly still for several moments before he lunged forward. With one arm extended in front of him, his boots carried him two impulsive steps in the direction where Spock had just been before he stopped short.

Falling back on his heels, Jim’s shoulders dropped with an exhale. It would do no good to chase Spock down…not now, when he was about to establish communication with his parents visually over subspace.

Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps, as the moment drew nearer to seeing them in real time and expecting to face undesirable news, it had begun affecting Spock more and more. It was a sensible assumption as Jim hadn’t seen him since they parted ways in the corridor hours ago, and thus wouldn’t have been able to observe any drastic change in behavior.

Yet, Jim couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. The person who had just walked into his quarters was Spock, and not Spock at all. It’d felt like he’d put his arms around the neck of a mannequin and kissed an empty shell.

And somehow, Jim’s intuition told him it wasn’t only attributable to the situation with Sarek.

Slowly, he pulled his eyes away from the door. They wandered down to the carpet and then he gazed over his shoulder, peering at their half setup chess game. Jim licked his lips and stared at it in thought.

If not Sarek, then what? Mulling it over, he approached the table and extended his hand to remove the three-dimensional board. Jim stopped himself just before his fingers made contact with the curved rod supporting the platforms.

“ _Why do you always show me such kindness?_ ”

“ _Can I speak like an emotional human? I love you._ ”

 _Because I love you_.

Jim’s hand fell. He stared down at the neat rows of chessmen, standing on the tabletop and waiting to be placed. His lips fell open slightly and his eyes stopped focusing on the pieces when it hit him: Spock had needed to ask that question.

And Jim, flying so high on adoration and his plans that his inhibitions weren’t as controlled as they usually would have been, replied with three heavy words. They were words he’d spoken out loud for the first time ever—words he’d meant more than anything. But for Jim to have said them at that particular moment…

Had he done to Spock what he vowed to never do? Had he unintentionally cornered him? Jim wasn’t expecting Spock to say the same in return—not then, or ever. In fact, as he stared down at the table now, he realized he had no expectations at all. It was just that when Spock walked through that door, all Jim had seen was love and his heart beat faster because of it.

It thumped even quicker with the image of Spock looking so out of place—so stiff and strangely uncertain, expressing a barely-there sign of distress in his Vulcan way. He appeared in the same manner when Sarek had boarded the ship for transport years ago. And when Jim recognized that, the only thing he wanted to do was protect Spock and convince him that he always had a place to belong in his arms, if nowhere else—that Spock would always be not just enough, but more than enough.

However, those words Jim said when he was intoxicated by the depths of his affection may have taken his efforts a step much too far, especially under the circumstances.

Guilt flooded through him and he couldn’t bring himself to move their game. The small table was abandoned as Jim solemnly walked to the synthesizer, analyzing the situation as he went. He thought in silence while he removed dishes, glasses, and silverware, and brought them to his desk. Jim pushed his PADD out of the way and began neatly arranging the plates and glasses on the open space, followed by setting the utensils.

An idea had formed that he didn’t like, fueled by a small voice in his head. And when its suggestion became too loud, Jim walked around the desk and dropped into his chair. Taking hold of his PADD, he went directly to the messaging application and reread the trip plan confirmation scheduled on Risa. He scrolled down to the bottom and returned to the top, combing through it once more before dropping the device on the surface and leaning back in his chair.

He’d messed up.

There was a clear disconnect and it became strikingly obvious as Jim tightly shut his eyes to massage them in circles with his palms. Here he was, making extravagant plans to ask Spock to marry him, while Spock was suddenly asking questions that indicated he had no idea how greatly he was treasured. They hadn’t ever discussed the future, hadn’t ever talked about what would become of their relationship in the long-term.

They were subjects Jim avoided for the same reasons he dodged others: he didn’t want to push Spock emotionally further than what was necessary. And since he had no well thought out plan for asking the question other than the fact that he knew that he _wanted_ to ask it, it seemed too risky to bring up.

Spock was a very rigid, by-the-book individual. Nothing he did was spontaneous or alarming if it could be helped, and Jim couldn’t even imagine the reaction he would get if he’d casually brought up the rest of their lives out of the blue at a time like last night.

His hands fell from his face and his attention was drawn to their chess table once more, thinking again about that perfect moment which slipped away as easily as their fingertips had after touching. Jim had worried that Spock read his intentions through the contact then. Now, he was concerned with different matters altogether. Was it actually possible that Spock _really_ had no idea of how much Jim loved him? Had Jim failed so hard in showing him with action, that spoken word was needed to convey it?

Jim swallowed hard. He’d been in so deep with his affection for Spock and attempts to respect Vulcan culture that he’d lost the ability to distinguish the forest from the trees—which was a jarring recognition for someone who excelled in always seeing the bigger picture. Clarity struck him upon the realization that he was planning out how to begin the rest of their lives, when he should have been considering how to speak to Spock about it first instead. Without knowing it, Jim had managed to put the cart before the horse.

In truth, before Spock’s visit polarized him, he thought he’d been on the correct path—thought that this was a natural progression of their relationship. Jim knew the love they shared was deep enough to move forward, and had believed Spock knew it as well.

But Spock’s inquiry revealed that wasn’t even remotely the case and that the most important question of all wasn’t the one Jim wanted to ask. The priorities shifted in that pivotal moment. More than anything else, Jim needed to know if Spock was even _aware_ that he was cherished—needed to know if Spock knew how much Jim wanted to share his life with him before he could even think about offering himself.

It didn’t matter to Jim how they would accomplish the union. They could marry according to Terran customs, or not. But after the Pon Farr incident, Jim had researched Vulcan bonding in depth out of sheer curiosity and walked away with a little more than he had anticipated. The idea of carrying a piece of someone he adored above all others forever sounded not only like an intriguing honor, but romantic on an entirely different level.

Spock had already touched his mind and seen his thoughts on multiple occasions. He had known what Jim knew, had felt what Jim felt. And Jim had figured it was only logical to assume that Spock recognized the fathoms of his adoration by now.

But if Spock was mirroring Jim’s actions…if he was doing things out of respect for Terran customs as Jim had done for Vulcan ones, Jim’s lack of vocal affection could have sent an entirely opposite message.

He leaned forward in his chair, slowly bringing his right hand up and cupping it over his mouth. His thumb and pointer finger massaged his dimples as he considered this. In his attempts to gain acceptance from his race, Spock kept himself incredibly reserved. He’d been with no other before Jim, and yet after their relationship had begun, ship’s night had ignited like a wildfire.

They touched, they kissed. They undressed. The first few times were filled with trial and error but before long, they were rolling around on top of the bed like it was something Spock had done his whole adult life.

It wasn’t because Jim had pushed him for it.

Spock had begun sleeping in Jim’s bed next; his presence _sometimes_ became _often_ , and _often_ eventually became _constant_. He allowed Jim to touch him in ways that weren’t overtly sexual but likely wildly inappropriate on Vulcan—a hand on the shoulder, the innocent brushing of fingertips during the exchange of a PADD.

Spock had brought his belongings to this side, made time to spend together after obligations to the ship were fulfilled, willingly rubbed Jim’s back when his muscles were tight and sore… These weren’t the markings of a Vulcan who was inflexible due to the demands of his culture; instead, they were indications of Spock adjusting to accommodate Jim, just as Jim had done to accommodate Spock.

Regret washed over Jim instantly. Perhaps he wasn’t as accommodating as he thought he’d been all along. To have been convinced a frugal Vulcan might appreciate the luxuries on Risa suddenly seemed outright ridiculous. Jim picked up his PADD, returned to the confirmation message, and stared at the cancellation button. With a heavy breath, he pressed it and began filling out the form on the next page to rescind all the plans.

His pointer finger hovered above the submit button and began to descend. But just before he tapped it, memories of three ghosts named Ruth, Carol, and Edith suddenly flashed before him—the same ones he would have sold the universe itself for. In hindsight, Jim realized he’d done just that on each occasion. And every time, he ended up trading it all only to become a gutted carcass that bled out endless oceans of love to a void.

It all began during freshman year with Ruth—the first person he’d ever dated. He had Gary to thank for that. The memory was so vivid that Jim could still remember with perfect clarity how it started—when he was shuffling his way down the dorm hall with books piled so high that he needed to look around them to see.

“If it isn’t Cadet Jerk, the stack of books with legs!” Gary taunted from the nearby doorway of their room, making no move to offer assistance. He stood there with a smug grin and his arms crossed while leaning casually against the molding.

Annoyance had flooded Jim instantly. He’d been getting sick and tired of being the brunt of geek jokes just because he was serious about his career choice. He bit his tongue and swallowed his pride. “A little help, if you don’t mind, Gary?”

“Sure thing, Jimbo. In fact, I’m about to do you a _huge_ favor.” And with that, Gary righted himself and stepped forward. He pressed his hand against the column of books and shoved them, sending them tumbling to the floor.

With a loud shout and his eyes widening, Jim wobbled back and forth as he struggled to prevent them from falling but finally lost his balance. His shoulder slammed into the wall and he grunted from the pain. By the time he regained himself, he was holding only two volumes; the rest formed a disheveled pile at his feet.

Fury surged through him at the sight of the books—a rarity since the dawn of digital _everything_ over a century ago—in such a sorry state with their fragile paper pages bent and spines stretched. He’d promised to take good care of them as he always did and the library trusted him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Jim barked. His fists clenched, but he minded his temper. “I’m responsible for these!”

“Like I said, it’s a favor.”

All Jim could do to contain his anger was snarl. There was a strict no-aggression policy at the academy, and he wasn’t about to tarnish his esteemed record over Gary acting like a moron. He immediately began to drop to his knees to pick them up, but was stopped when Gary grabbed his elbow.

“You need to get your head out of those and start getting it instead.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Gary laughed and immediately slipped his arm around Jim’s neck to get him in a headlock. “Head. As in, getting your dick wet, Jim.” He kicked the pile of old-style literature for good measure. “See, there’s this little blonde technician I know who’s _right_ up your alley…” he began, while dragging him off over thrashing and a slew of infuriated protests.

Despite an awkward beginning, Ruth wound up being Jim’s first brush with what he thought was love. It was only seven months later when he spoke of marrying her, and heard a simple reply.

“Ask my dad first.”

Jim could still remember her father’s disapproving gaze—how he hadn’t even spoken three words before the man told him he wasn’t about to allow some _astronaut_ to take his daughter away into deep space. Two days after, Ruth broke it off and told him they needed to stop contacting each other. And Jim found himself left exactly how he’d begun: alone.

It’d hurt him badly, but he was eventually able to come to terms with the situation and wondered why Ruth was even at the academy to begin with if her family wouldn’t permit her into space. At some point in the very distant future, he would learn that Gary had manipulated his relationship with Ruth right from the start. Before Jim could find out the reason, Gary would be gone.

Carol was a different story altogether. They’d been preassigned as lab partners in astrobiology, and she’d come on strong to Jim right from the start. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and would do anything within reason to get it, or so Jim thought. He would later found out that sometimes, she wasn’t reasonable at all when it came to the interests of others—namely himself.

“Jim, we need to talk,” Carol suddenly said, giving a tug to his arm. They’d been walking through the campus botany gardens in fresh bloom, the warmth of spring everywhere around them.

Immediately, Jim stopped and turned to her. A soft smile pulled at his lips while his hand lifted and began pushing locks of golden hair behind her ear. “Don’t tell me you’re about to break my heart here.” He hadn’t been serious.

“I’m pregnant.”

The gentleness of Jim’s features faded into immediate confusion and he shook his head. “You’re—”

With her lips pursed and eyebrows raised, she nodded. “Pregnant.”

“You…you told me to stop taking the—” A boisterous laugh in the distance reminded Jim of how public a setting this was and he leaned in, talking in a brisk whisper. “You told me to stop taking the pill because you would.”

“Yeah, well it seems I—” Carol tilted her head to the side. “—missed a dose or two. …I’m sorry.”

Jim took in a deep breath and gazed down to the side. “Okay.” He swallowed and then looked up at her, with a small smile, only to repeat, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Jim affirmed softly. “We’re going to work this out, Carol. I’ve already been thinking—”

“Oh my God, _no_ , Jim,” Carol interjected with a shake of her head. She took one step back, yanking her arm free from where it was linked with his. “No.”

Jim furrowed his brow and stammered, “No…what?”

“God!” she exclaimed beneath her breath and began quickly walking away, the sound of her high-heeled shoes echoing on the pavement.

“Carol!” Jim called out, running to catch up with her. He touched her arm gently and she whirled to face him.

“Jim, _please_. I can’t hear what you’re about to say. I feel shitty enough about it and I just can’t.”

A look of befuddlement and then guilt flashed across his face. Jim’s jaw barely fell and he huffed out a small laugh, reaching for her and drawing her close. “Oh, Carol,” he said softly, his nose falling into her hair. “That’s…I didn’t mean to make you think I was about to leave you.”

Jim pulled back and took her cheeks in his palms. “I won’t, I promise. What I was going to say was—”

“Jim.” The expression on Carol’s face was just as indicative as the flat tone in her voice. She took his wrists in her hands and pulled them away from her. “You don’t understand. _I’m_ leaving _you_.”

Her eyes drifted away from him then, presumably to avoid dealing with what she saw cross his features and she forced out an awkward cough.

“Look, Jim,” Carol said in a gentler tone, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her light coat. “It’s been good but it’s not that serious to me compared to other things. I mean…this. Us. Let’s be realistic. It’s not going to work in the long-term.”

“Not serious?!” Still conscious of the atmosphere, Jim’s voice was only a harsh whisper. “For God’s sake, you just told me you’re carrying my child!”

Her attention snapped to him then. “It’s not the dark ages any more, you know. People can be single parents and have careers without struggling. Don’t you get it, Jim?” Carol withdrew the hands she just buried and reached for his forearms. “That’s what I want. A career in science. A baby.” Her voice softened. “Not to be some starship captain’s wife.”

When Jim opened his mouth to speak, she simply shook her head. Three fingertips pressed to his lips. “Don’t say it, Jim. Because I know you want the stars just as badly. I’m not going to be the one to stand in your way, so don’t be the one to stand in mine.”

The pointed taps her shoes made as she walked away was a sound Jim would never forget.

And then, there had been Edith. Before her, there were a few others here and there—not many and certainly not just objects to be used. But none of them could be who Jim would willingly commit the rest of his life to, when he’d already surrendered himself to command long ago. When it was least expected however, there was a stroke of luck and the one he believed he was destined to marry fell right into his hands.

Her name was Enterprise.

The Enterprise filled a void inside Jim that he didn’t even know existed. She gave him purpose, something to look after and take care of. He was immensely proud of her, loved showing her off and bragging about her. The extension of her was the crew; four hundred thirty people depended on Jim’s decision-making and after a short while, they had all become family to him. That was enough, he reasoned and never felt lonely or unsatisfied.

Sometimes, he’d consider a passing thought as to what it would be like to have more, though. His attraction to Spock had blossomed right from the beginning, but Jim decided that his _surely_ _unrequited_ impulses weren’t worth the price. He refused to compromise his command team, and especially didn’t want to risk offending someone so important. Spock was widely regarded as the best first officer in the fleet—and in a more private setting, he was tied with McCoy for the title of Jim’s best friend.

And while he felt an undeniable attraction to Spock, Jim had decided it was best to leave things as they were. He was grateful for the companionship they’d quickly developed but above all, the Enterprise was everything he needed.

But then there _was_ no Enterprise, and Jim found himself stranded in 1930’s New York. That’s when he’d met her.

The odds of returning to their time period were astronomical. They’d jumped into the past on a complete whim, hoping to land where McCoy ended up. When they arrived so out of place on that cold autumn day, there’d been no indication that the guess was correct.

In some respects, Jim felt extremely fortunate that he’d chosen that particular basement to break into, because it was what had immediately led him to Edith. Without meeting her, there was no telling if Spock and he would have found work or a place to stay so soon. They could’ve wound up like any hard luck case, freezing, starving, and catching their deaths on the street.

But there was something else about Edith that made her a savior, besides her offers of work and shelter. She’d almost instantly become what the Enterprise was to Jim. He’d been so scared of losing the ship forever that he wondered if he’d lose himself without having something to treasure and care for. But just like the Enterprise had, Edith gave him purpose and a reason to strive for betterment.

Jim worked hard and then harder, throwing himself into the odd jobs he landed. The labor was grueling and the conditions brutal. However, when he arrived at the flop in the evening, he could smile at Spock even though his exhaustion.

Their odds hadn’t become much better as the days passed. Spock’s crude row of circuit boards grew and took up one of the two beds. At night, they shared the empty one awkwardly; it was small and uncomfortable, but better than freezing on the hardwood floor. Far into the early hours was also the time when Jim would stare through the darkness and think about all the things weighing down on his mind.

It was two in the morning one particular instance when Spock’s scent messed with his head and his body betrayed him. Jim’s fingers delved into the thin sheet and tightened, desperate to will his erection down and think of anything or anyone else. His thoughts wandered to Edith, and he began to question why it wasn’t she who was provoking this sort of reaction when he was supposedly in love with her.

 _Supposedly_.

Deep down, Jim knew the truth, however. He could lie to anyone but his own reflection. The spark was there. The attraction was there. But the feelings just weren’t enough—didn’t feel right because Jim recognized that they were a proverbial rug to sweep his pain under.

He wasn’t the type of person to avoid what hurt him. However, losing everything that made him who he was and having Spock lying in bed beside him only out of sheer necessity made him want to forget it all. Jim wanted to believe that this was all real…that for once in his life, mutual affection could just come naturally to him.

The very next day was when he heard Spock say those words.

“Edith Keeler must die.”

And in that moment, Jim realized that everything he’d wished for hours ago was actually more real than he realized—or could handle.

This was the story of his life: a novelization full of triumph and perseverance, of struggle and success, of love and loss. There were chapters titled Ruth Bonne, Carol Marcus, and Edith Keeler…Miramanee, Tom Leighton, Matt Decker…Gary, parts one, two, and three.

Jim stared at the bright red submit button on his PADD.

A mishmash of people he’d cared about who were no longer with him ran through his mind, some friends and others more than that by choice or coercion. They were all gone, but each had taught Jim something important.

He didn’t resent or dwell deeply on the loss that came with the territory of being alive. However, facing so much of it throughout his years made Jim only appreciate Spock more—made him want to give him the best life he could possibly offer. Jim’s finger lifted and slid to the side. It hovered above the button that would call off sending his cancellation.

Jim had tried so hard with the people he’d fallen for. Of the three he reminisced on in detail during his indecision to call off the plans… He’d pushed Ruth too quickly. He should’ve been smarter with Carol. He allowed Edith to replace the grief of losing his ship and identity instead of dealing with it on his own.

His relationship with Spock was his chance to set all of this right and more, to learn from his mistakes and make someone else happy from all of life’s lessons. They’d been together long enough. He’d been a good listener, been very observant. He stayed true to who he was and found Spock’s company only augmented the good in his life, not provided all of it.

And above all this, Jim loved Spock with a purer love than any other who’d come before. This time, he simply _knew_ it was real and that Spock was the only one he could spend the rest of his life with. What they had was what Jim had wanted all along.

With that, it began to dawn on Jim that he might have held some things back for not only Spock’s sake, but his own, too. Protecting Spock from unnecessary emotional strife was understandable, but not talking of their future was indicative of something else which Jim found hard to swallow. It seemed that after losing so many he cared for throughout his life, he was actually frightened of losing Spock too.

On that thought, he immediately exited the cancellation page without putting it through and came to an important decision. Tonight, Jim would listen to Spock if he wanted to talk; he hoped clarity would come from the conversation with Sarek and Amanda, and that he could help Spock through anything troubling him. Jim decided he would vaguely apologize for speaking too quickly before, which had possibly made Spock uncomfortable.

He decided they’d eat dinner and then move over to chess. He’d be there to hear Spock unwind over their game as he always did, and would comfort him in any way he could. And though Jim was anxious to smooth things over and calm his own anxiety, he would be in no rush to help himself—especially if Spock was suffering.

But when the time was right—after he was positive that Spock was back to his same, logical self—Jim would make the open confession that his actions had failed to.

On a ship’s night with plenty of time available for them to talk, he’d outright tell Spock how much he was loved, and reveal what his wishes were for the future. From there, they’d work the rest of it out together and if Spock said he wanted to cancel the Risian luxuries, Jim would do so without question. The fact that he even suggested the idea would be enough to satisfy him.

In fact… Jim’s eyes were on that small table for two again. Maybe asking Spock right there, at the place they spent a great deal of their free time, would be the perfect location after all.

There was one thing Jim was absolutely certain of, though. He wanted Spock in his life more than he had ever wanted another. And this time, he wasn’t going to repeat any past mistakes that would prevent that from happening.

The subspace conference had been reserved for the duration of an hour; whether Spock would utilize all of it or not was the question. Jim hoped he could make the most of being able to see Sarek and Amanda in real time, and that neither side would be too hard on the other. Spock never revealed much about his childhood, but from what little Jim knew, it hadn’t been easy.

With over a half hour on his hands, Jim strolled down the corridors to pay a visit to someone else—a good friend who’d been asking for his company over the last two ship’s days. He stepped through a large doorway and strolled through sickbay, heading to the side office.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” McCoy exclaimed from behind his desk once the door closed behind his visitor. He placed his PADD on the surface. “To what deity do I owe thanks that the captain has _finally_ decided to grace me with his presence?”

A small smile pulled at Jim’s lips and he tossed his head to the side. “Knock it off, Bones. I’ve been busy—” Just before he finished that thought, Jim’s eyes went a little wider and his mouth pulled in a line. He’d caught himself too late.

“Oh, son of a…” McCoy snapped under his breath, shooting an unimpressed scowl at the cabinets to his right. He shoved his shoulder blades back against his chair. “I gave you _one_ job, Jim, which was no job at all!”

“If it helps, I haven’t been up to the bridge today,” Jim offered, slipping into the seat across from McCoy.

“ _No_ , it doesn’t help. Not one damn bit.”

Jim pursed his lips in a pout. “Sorry, then.”

“You know, you keep saying that word,” McCoy said, his eyes squinting in annoyance. “But I’ll tell you something, Jim. After four years of it, it doesn’t mean much anymore.”

“Oh, come on.” Jim got to his feet again and wandered over to the impressive display of alcohol. It was a wonder why he’d even bothered sitting in the first place when he knew he’d ultimately end up here. His pointer finger ran across the line of bottles until it stopped in the middle. “You know I always mean it…”

“So?” McCoy asked dismissively while his spine straightened and he crossed his arms. “What kind of nonsense did you do instead of relaxing today?”

“I relaxed more than enough, Bones,” Jim replied. After pulling out his selection, he removed two whiskey glasses from the shelf beneath and began fixing the drinks. “All I did was work on the report from Alkar Beta. This one is taking forever since it wasn’t exactly a conventional mission.”

“Work is work,” McCoy countered, reaching to take the glass Jim offered him while mumbling a thank you.

“Mission reports aren’t exactly hard labor, Bones. Not after you’ve become a professional scribe from filing hundreds. Cheers.” Their glasses clinked. Jim took a swig and he gritted his teeth with a wince, followed by a loud exhale. As usual, McCoy drank his brandy like it was water.

“Speaking of that, I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Jim looked down at the dark liquor swirling in the glass with the motion of his hand. “About what?”

“Alkar Beta.” McCoy took another sip, and remained quiet for several moments. “How was that like, Jim?”

With his brows pulling inward, Jim looked up and shook his head. “I’m not following.”

“Weren’t you wandering through a huge field of sex pollen?”

“What?” All of the lightheartedness was swept off of Jim’s face in an instant and he placed his glass on the desk with a tap. “First of all, we weren’t _wandering_ through it.”

“All right, all right. So I misspoke. You _walked_ through a huge field of sex pollen.”

“Second of all, no one had any idea it was actually sex pollen and third, what does it even matter?”

“Wow, okay!” McCoy said, his voice climbing up in pitch. “It was just a question, Jim. No need to get bent out of shape.”

“I’m not,” Jim insisted, picking up his brandy and taking another sip, which went down easier since his throat was already on fire from the first. He prayed his empty stomach would forgive him as well. “I just don’t see the point in asking.”

McCoy raised a brow, his blue eyes wandering to the desk for a moment. “I’m sorry, Jim. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just wondering if what you experienced was the same as the others’ since you weren’t talking much during the meeting.” There was another moment of silence before he continued, “And I said you as in _you_ , alone. By yourself. I wasn’t trying to bring anyone else into the picture.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said immediately. “I’m just under stress at the moment.”

“Oh, is that right?” McCoy asked sarcastically. “Maybe if you actually got your full day of rest like I told you to, you’d be a little better off!” He ignored the glare he got in response. “But hell, I gave up trying to control the little things with you, Jim, so let’s just forget it. Have you seen the promotion notice Command sent down for Geoff?”

The glass was at Jim’s lips when he closed his eyes and nodded to acknowledge he had. He swallowed his mouthful and then set the drink down. “I authorized it myself. This is a great move for him.”

“Doctor Geoffrey M’Benga, CMO of the Lexington. Couldn’t think of anyone better to fill those shoes. Geoff’s been nothing but an asset here, but you already know all about how highly I think of him.”

“It’s mutual admiration,” Jim reminded and received a hum in reply. “Couldn’t have asked to put the crew in more capable hands beside yours—especially Spock. Geoff’s medical knowledge of Vulcan anatomy came in handy more times than I like to think about. We’ve really had some adventures.”

For several moments, they sat without talking before McCoy broke the peace. “So I’ve been wondering, Jim,” he began quietly, his stare locked on the desk before he raised them. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

McCoy shook his head and his shoulders lifted slightly. “Any news from HQ? I imagine they’ll be offering you a second commission.”

Keeping his expression cleverly neutral, Jim drew in a breath and looked off to the side while bringing the glass back to his lips. “Not a thing,” he spoke with disinterest in his voice before taking a swig.

“What are your plans then?”

Jim knew he should have expected this conversation; McCoy was his best friend and it was a predictable question. He had no idea why it was being asked at the most inconvenient time possible though, especially when he had no real answer to give. Truthfully, Jim had felt horrible for a long time now with having to keep such a massive secret from McCoy, but he couldn’t go back on his promise to Spock.

“Don’t know yet. It all depends on what orders the brass decides to send my way, and considering they haven’t done that yet…” Jim tossed his chin up, downing the rest of the brandy. The occipital area of his head rested on the back of the chair and he remained like that, waiting and staring at the ceiling. He knew it was coming…

“How about Spock?”

…Ah, there it was. Without straightening himself, Jim replied, “No idea.”

“Well.” Jim could just imagine the way McCoy must’ve cocked his head. “Speaking quite frankly, Jim, it’s my hope that he stays with you.” At that, Jim’s eyes barely squinted and he quickly sat up to find a small smirk pulling at the corners of McCoy’s mouth. “You two…you work really well together.”

“I’m the captain, he’s my first officer. And more than that, he’s my friend. Of course we do.”

“But not everyone has the kind of connection that you have with Spock.” McCoy set his glass down. “That’s why I’m hoping that green-blooded Vulcan remains your right hand if Command sends you out into space again.”

A huff fell from Jim’s mouth. “Wait. Are you telling me…?”

“I’m planning on retiring from Starfleet when we arrive back home, Jim.” A brow raised. “Didn’t think that would surprise you much.”

Jim’s lips pulled into a tight line and his gaze fell to the neat stack of old books on the corner of the desk. After a few moments, they formed a sad smile and a breath was pushed out from his nose. “No, it’s not a surprise,” he agreed before returning his attention to McCoy. “Doesn’t mean I don’t hate hearing it, though.”

“I’m getting up there in age, Jim, and you know just as well as any other that I think the galaxy is a playground for the young.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re only in your forties!”

“That may be, Captain Sir, but I assure you. Serving on this ship has aged me at least thirty years beyond that.” There was a mischievous glint in McCoy’s eyes. “Truth is, I got some other plans I’m interested in pursuing so I’m gonna do just that.”

“And what are those?” Jim asked.

“It’s a secret. Maybe you’ll find out someday.” The chuckle that left McCoy was more telling than his response; it would be something Jim could never understand.

Jim hummed. “Fair enough.” He crossed his arms, rubbing at both biceps with his palms and peered over at the chronometer. Deciding that now would be a good time to take his leave, Jim stood and picked up his glass.

“I meant what I said though, Jim. Now, I’m not sure what the higher ups have in store for you, but whatever that might be, I hope it involves Spock… I really hope that you can keep this closely knit team you have going on. Sometimes, I’m not sure where you end and he begins. That’s a pretty special thing if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Jim countered jovially with a smile, placing the vessel into the synthesizer for cleaning. “But for what it’s worth, Bones, I’d really like it if that were the case.” Turning to face him, he added, “Especially since I’m already losing you.”

McCoy’s lower eyelids raised just a touch at that remark. For some time, it looked as though he wanted to say something further but no words left him.

“I should be off. I haven’t eaten dinner yet and the CMO told me to rest, so I think I’ll do just that.”

As Jim headed to the door, he heard McCoy retort, “Like hell you will.” He stopped in place to look over his shoulder, his lips twitching upward before finally taking his leave.

Jim’s eyes fixed to Spock’s door as he walked by it, his boots never stopping until he stood before his own quarters. The biometric scanner read his retinas and the entrance unlocked, opening to the quiet space within.

He immediately walked to his desk and looked at his PADD; as expected, he hadn’t received any messages from Spock, so he wrote a quick one himself.

 

_Spock,_

_If you’re interested in reviewing the data from the pollen samples before I finalize the report, I’ll be available any time this evening._

_Thank you,_

_James Kirk_

_Captain, USS Enterprise_

 

Being formal in front of others was one thing, but the cordialities in their messages seemed borderline ridiculous. Alas, it was necessary to remain professional in any traceable communication—especially while what they shared needed to be kept undisclosed.

With that, Jim’s stomach growled loudly and he stifled a sigh. It was five minutes past the hour now and he hoped Spock would either reply to him or show up soon; Jim was eager to check over his condition and find out about Sarek’s prognosis…and not to mention have dinner.

He was unwilling to eat without Spock after promising to introduce him to a new dish, so Jim decided a tall glass of water would have to suffice for the time being. He returned to his desk and brought up his report. While he sipped, he glazed over what had already been written until his eyes met a blinking cursor.

Then, Jim’s fingers began busily typing away, his mind remaining on topic for just over ten minutes before his stomach growled loudly again and he switched to the messaging app. The mail he’d sent Spock was still unread, so he took another long drink of water and returned to the task.

Ten minutes became twenty, and in that duration, Jim had quickly checked for a read receipt three times—to find no confirmation that his message had ever been looked at. His left hand landed on his desk and he drummed his fingertips upon the surface in thought.

Perhaps Spock was in meditation? Jim hated to interrupt him if that were the case, even if it prolonged his own worry. He decided he would simply throw himself into finishing the report and stop thinking about all the things eating away at him. Making a concentrated effort to focus, Jim left behind the conditions of Spock, Sarek, and his own hunger.

It was just over an hour after Jim’s return to his quarters when he finished his work and by this time, a small headache had formed. Jim assumed it was likely from not having eaten now that the time was past 20:00. Pushing his PADD away from him, he forced out a deep breath and stood.

Spock still hadn’t looked at the mail, and Jim decided that both his curiosity and need to eat could no longer be ignored. Pressing his hands to the small of his back, he maneuvered his shoulders around to loosen up his tight muscles, and then gave his neck a good stretch. Feeling a little sore still from last night, Jim allowed himself the selfish indulgence of remembering the feeling of Spock’s deft hands massaging him. Just the thought helped him relax.

Finally, he reached for the communicator that rested on his desk and flipped it open, immediately sending a request to Spock’s code. The device beeped twice and then paused for another two seconds; as the number of times he heard those sounds began to concern Jim, he shut the grill and immediately strode toward the bathroom.

The entrance on his side swished open and he walked right through it. Even before their relationship had begun, Jim and Spock had always left their individual doors to the shared bathroom unlocked; they trusted each other completely and agreed that it would be in the ship’s best interest for them to have access to one another if absolutely necessary.

And that was why, when Jim nearly collided with the shut door on the other side, he stumbled back a few steps with confusion written across his features. That was when the realization hit him: it was locked.

Jim’s eyebrows knitted inward as he stepped back up to it, pressing his palm to the gray surface and then took a deep breath. A sigh escaped him and he glanced over to the sensor fixated to the side. He stared at the green glowing panel before his hand lifted and began approaching the soft light.

Just before his proximity was close enough to activate the chime, it stopped in place. The image of Spock kneeling on his meditation mat once again filled Jim’s head. Surely, if Spock had read his message, he would have replied—but the fact that he hadn’t even seen it yet meant that he was occupied with something else.

If the news regarding the ambassador was really so dire, Jim decided that he might be better off giving Spock some space. He remembered what he’d promised, that he’d never push Spock or force something from him that couldn’t be given. Jim’s eyes dropped to the floor. … _Intentionally_ , he’d never do that, anyway.

His hand fell and Jim relented, wandering back to his quarters. Glancing at the bed for a moment, he decided he could no longer wait to eat. At some point, the pain from his headache had gone from being a minor annoyance to increasingly more noticeable, and now the brightness of all the interior lighting was getting to him and making it much worse.

“Computer, lights at sixty-five percent,” Jim commanded, dimming the room to help take the strain off his eyes. The synthesizer held his next order of business, but though he felt like he was starving, he had no desire to actually eat.

“This is ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself, raising a hand to his forehead and massaging it gently.

Jim was a man of action; he’d never been good at simply sitting around and letting things happen—especially when they directly affected him. _First things first_ , he thought. He stalked over to a tiny medicine case and procured a hypo. Pressing it against his arm, he injected the pain reliever into his bloodstream and discarded the used applicator in the proper receptacle.

Next, he went back to the synthesizer and without further delay, defaulted to a meal he and Spock often ate together: a spicy quinoa chili platter. Taking his plate to his desk, he quickly consumed his dinner in silence, finding comfort in the fact that both the hunger pains and aching in his head had left him soon after.

Leaning back in his chair, he pushed his dish away and picked up his PADD. When he fired up the messaging application once again and saw no change in status, Jim decided enough was simply enough. He was taking a walk.

A million questions gnawed at him as he cleaned up after himself, and then promptly exited his quarters. On his desk, the plates he’d set up earlier for their dinner went untouched beside the PADD that he willfully left behind.

Jim’s footsteps immediately carried him into the lift and he made a quick visit to the bridge. As he was carried there, he mouthed beneath his breath, “Sorry, Bones…” and had an epiphany. Maybe McCoy had had a point about his apologies seeming empty over small things.

The ship’s night watch was running efficiently; in fact, the bridge crew had seemed surprised that Jim should show up since they were traveling to another routine survey planet and nothing unusual had been encountered in transit.

Jim left the bridge quickly and ordered the lift to the level with his quarters, but immediately changed his mind the moment after he issued the command. “Cancel deck five. Deck six.”

In a matter of minutes, Jim found himself standing right back where he had been with Spock earlier on the upper observation deck. The room was much busier now, with soft conversation and laughter from crewmembers enjoying their time off.

For once, Jim felt a little envious; he wished that kind of peace could find him now. He removed the communicator from his belt and flipped it open, scrolling through his notifications to find nothing of interest. Just as quickly, he fastened it to his side again and crossed his arms, letting his gaze wander to the display of stars that speckled the obsidian canvas of space.

He needed to find some solitude to calm his too-active mind. If this had been any other time or circumstance, Jim wouldn’t have even thought twice about not seeing or hearing from Spock. He’d never even thought to question or complain when Spock was occupied by his work or experiments, or if he was too busy helping the team with something.

This ship’s night, however, presented an entirely different issue. Jim couldn’t shake the memory of how lost and out of place Spock was earlier, and he couldn’t help but think that his own carelessness had been partly to blame for that.

There was also that bizarre thing Spock had said the night before, about the pollen exposure causing the emergence of _revelations_ ; exactly what that had meant, Jim was unsure. He was certain about one thing, though: that he didn’t like being left in the dark. And right now, that’s exactly where he was. Jim suppressed a groan from leaving his lips and brought his hand to the side of his head. Rubbing it gently, his eyes closed.

A soft voice roused him from his troubled thoughts. “Captain?”

Jim lifted his head to find Uhura several paces away, standing tall in a purple dress with her hands clasped before her. His lips immediately formed a smile and he brushed the two stubborn pieces of hair away from his forehead; they immediately fell back down.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted with a friendly tone, casting his woes toward the stars and turning himself completely in her direction.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you, Sir. I was just sitting at the table over there with Christine and wanted to ask you something.”

As she stepped closer to him, Jim shook his head. “Not at all.” He lifted his chin and gave a small wave to Chapel before returning his attention to Uhura. He put on his warmest expression. “So. What’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming to one of our language club meetings sometime. It’s an awful lot of fun. Just this evening, I was teaching Swahili and now I’m getting greeted as my ancestors were.” She lifted her hand and waved. “ _Habari ya jioni_! Good evening.”

“Habari ya…jioni,” Jim repeated carefully. “Language club? Isn’t that the one you started a few months ago?”

“That’s right.” Uhura’s brows raised and she cocked her head to the side. “If you’re interested, our next meeting will be in two ship’s days. We meet at 19:00 in Rec Room G for about an hour. Lieutenant Sulu’s going to be teaching us some Japanese and giving a short talk on hosting traditional tea ceremonies. If you’re not busy…”

Jim’s grin widened a little further. “You can count me in—of course, if nothing comes up that prevents me from attending, that is.”

“Of course! That’s wonderful, Captain! I really look forward to seeing you there if you can make it. You can extend the invitation to Commander Spock as well. I know he’s an avid tea drinker himself, and he might find the talk interesting.”

“I’ll be sure to get the message to him,” Jim agreed, keeping the same pleasant look across his features.

“Perfect. Thank you, Captain. I’ll stop bothering you now.”

“You’re never a bother, but I’d better be going as well. I have some work to get done before tomorrow.”

Uhura’s pearly white teeth flashed as she offered another smile. “Good night, Sir. I’ll see you on the bridge in the morning.”

“Good night,” Jim bade with a friendly nod.

As Uhura took her leave, he did the same—taking the winding path through the foliage and out into the corridor. While Jim made his way back to his quarters, the thought that two of his crewmembers in the same evening mentioned Spock out of nowhere wasn’t lost on him.

Of course, it was obvious that his friendship with Spock ran deep and that as far as captains and first officers went, they meshed really well together on the job. But Jim couldn’t help considering if the crew was reading more into the situation than either he or Spock were comfortable with admitting to at present.

McCoy and Uhura were high ranking officers who typically worked the same shifts as Jim and Spock did. Gazing down at the floor when he entered the lift, Jim pulled his mouth into a line. Of course, they would see his interactions with Spock firsthand and be able to tell that the team they formed was unbreakable. But something told Jim that it wasn’t only the professional relationship that his senior officers noticed.

For the first time in over four years, he began to wonder if others suspected…and just how widespread that speculation might be on the ship.

When the lift reached the housing level, Jim found himself slowly walking down the hallway when his eyes fell on Spock’s door once again. This time, he stopped before it. He opened his communicator to check his notifications and when he found none from Spock, he finally signaled the chime.

Jim pursed his lips, gazing to his right and left while he waited for a reply. No answer came.

He shuffled to his own quarters then and let himself in with an idea. It was entirely possible that Spock was in one of the science labs now, which would explain the silence in his quarters.

…But not the unread message, nor the locked door.

Running a hand through his hair, Jim ordered his door set to privacy lock and attempted to not let his imagination wander. He drifted to the sonics and stripped, trying to busy his mind by thinking about what he could do to wish McCoy well in his retirement. The thought wasn’t helping his mood so instead, he played a game—challenged himself to name all the cities he could remember on Vulcan.

Shi’Kahr was first. Naturally.

Jim returned to his quarters naked except for the towel hanging about his shoulders. He deposited his used clothing in the laundry chute and then slipped into a pair of boxers with a dark blue and gold plaid pattern (“ _Fitting colors_ ,” he’d thought when he’d purchased them two years ago).

Then, with his hands on his hips, he huffed and looked around his empty room.

It was too early to sleep, but Jim decided the best thing he could do for himself at the moment was just that. He’d already caught up on his work and finalized the Alkar Beta report. The only thing remaining on his agenda for the day was to eat dinner and play chess with an imaginary boyfriend—and he wasn’t too keen on that. Just as he had done that ship’s morning, Jim began pulling on the ends of the towel to massage the back of his neck a few times before discarding it in the laundry.

To the bed he went, but before he pulled the covers back to climb in, he wrestled a heavier one from the confines of the large bottom drawer and laid it out on Spock’s side. With little space to walk between the large mattress and shelving units, Jim climbed up from the foot of the bed and slipped beneath the blankets.

He knew better than to trust that his brain would permit him to sleep without hours of tossing and turning and _thinking_ , so Jim next retrieved a melatonin hypo from a nearby compartment and pressed it to his arm. He felt relief that this particular concoction would be the thing that would finally quiet his thoughts, and with that, he collapsed against the mattress with a groan.

“Computer,” he said over an airy breath. “Set alarm to 07:30. Lights off. Temperature down two degrees. Scent: lavender for a duration of one hour.”

The room dimmed to darkness and within several moments, Jim could catch a calming aroma that roused memories of expansive Iowan fields littered with soft purple flowers. He breathed deeply and pushed his head back into the softness of his pillow, closing his eyes and attempting to rest.

However, the bed felt too empty and strangely cold, even though the temperature was comfortable. Jim’s lashes parted and he looked to the barren space to his right, staring. He flipped onto his side, and dropped his palm over the place where Spock would sleep. It slid it up the fabric of the blanket to the unused pillow. Jim’s fingers clamped on it and he drew it into his arms. Nuzzling his face against the material, he closed his eyes again and inhaled the scent of Spock.

It wasn’t the first time Jim had fallen asleep without him, and vice versa. But after his keen intuition had indicated something was off and Spock had remained mysteriously elusive, every feeling became a little more heightened than usual.

And right now, Jim was feeling this bed was much too big and his quarters entirely too quiet. It wasn’t long before the melatonin kicked in and lulled him to sleep, but not before Jim smiled into the pillow he held and reminded himself that when he woke up, his arms were likely to be around Spock instead.

A sudden staccato blaring of the alarm startled Jim and he gasped as his eyes snapped open. His heart pounded and several seconds of confusion lasted before Jim loudly groaned. “Computer, alarm _off_ ,” he demanded, not caring about how scratchy and rough his voice sounded.

Yawning, he pointed his toes and gave his pliant body a good stretch before turning over. It was no surprise that he’d wound up sleeping on his left side; he had the tendency of drifting during his sleep. In some ways, Jim was just as much a creature of habit as Spock, and speaking of him…

“Spock,” he whispered, extending his hand…to feel nothing. Jim paused and then raised it, reaching further and patting the neat blanket several times in different places before he sat up quickly.

“Computer, lights at sixty percent.”

As the room brightened, Jim found that the only thing next to him was the pillow he’d held to before falling asleep. The covers on Spock’s side were smooth and neat. Unused. He stared at the empty space for several fleeting seconds before the uneasiness overtook his senses and forced him into action.

Jim was instantly on his feet. Clad only in his briefs, he strode directly into the bathroom and right to Spock’s door, which was still locked. Without hesitation, he lifted his hand before the sensor and sounded the chime. Again, there was no reply.

“Computer, override privacy lock.” Jim’s voice carried no indication of sleep any longer. He leaned forward to allow the device to read his retinas, and the door to Spock’s quarters slid open.

Light from the bathroom poured into the darkness within.

“Spock?” Jim asked and then immediately commanded, “Computer, lights on full.”

The space illuminated and Jim marched directly into it. “Spock?” He walked through the neat sleeping alcove and into the main space, finding no sign of Spock’s presence. There was no indication he’d even been there at all; however, Spock’s PADD was missing from the place it was normally stored while not in use.

“What the hell?” Jim huffed under his breath and turned on the pads of his bare feet. He headed back to the bathroom. “Computer, lights off. Engage privacy lock, side door.”

Jim’s steps took him straight through his quarters and right to his desk, where he picked up his PADD. Messages scrolled through and finally, there it was: the read receipt he’d been looking for. Spock had accessed his message in the middle of ship’s night. There was no further acknowledgement than that.

Staring at the notification, Jim set the device down and completed his morning routine in record time. Within just five minutes, he was cleaned up and dressed, exiting his quarters with all his necessary electronics to do his work and immediately reporting to the mess hall.

It was tradition. He and Spock often ate breakfast with McCoy, but Jim had a great suspicion that today would be anything but normal. He entered the large space on deck six to find it just as busy as it always was. McCoy was sitting in the same usual place. There were lines to utilize the replicators. Everything was in order, except Spock was once again nowhere to be found.

In his attempt to locate Spock, McCoy had apparently noticed Jim looking around and waved.

“Well, good morning!” McCoy greeted him upon his arrival at their little table. “You’re here a bit early, aren’t you?”

“Morning,” Jim replied tersely. He openly wore confusion on his face. “Bones, have you…” Jim looked around again, wondering if it would be a good idea to ask him—or anyone, for that matter—about Spock’s whereabouts. Once the prospect of others suspecting their relationship hit him like a stack of bricks the night before, concern had needled its way into Jim’s consciousness regarding his transparency with Spock in off-duty situations.

“I’m listenin’…”

Shaking his head, Jim laughed off his awkward pause. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

McCoy’s eyes narrowed and he studied Jim. In a low voice, he inquired, “Are you all right?”

The smile that could have the entire universe placed in the palm of his hand automatically crossed Jim’s face. “I’m fine. Just…there’s a lot going on today. I’d better be off.”

“You? Not eating breakfast?”

“Not today, I’m afraid.” Jim nodded, the corners of his lips still curved upward. “I’ll catch up with you later, Bones.”

He pivoted immediately, making a beeline for the exit but not before hearing McCoy quietly ask, “What the hell?”

Jim’s steps carried him faster and then even faster to the lift, his eyes glued to the red doors. He arrived just as they split to let several crewmembers out, and along with a few others, Jim slipped in.

“Hope you all don’t mind, but I’m in a hurry,” he said to the others out of politeness, and then grabbed the lever first. “Bridge.”

It was a short trip to the top, seconds at most but it felt double that time. Finally, the doors opened again and the bridge scene unfolded in its normal, orderly fashion as Jim stepped onto it. He’d arrived before the official transfer of the swing shift to alpha shift, so a collection of night and day watch members were present; however, Jim’s eyes immediately fell on the lankly frame leaning over the scanner—on the sleek black hair which shined in the overhead lighting.

Jim cleared his throat and loudly announced, “Good morning.”

Everyone turned in his direction, except Spock. It wasn’t atypical behavior on his part, but since _everything_ had been so unpredictable in the last few hours, Spock’s avoidance succeeded in rousing a pang of irritation in Jim. He swallowed it immediately.

A chorus of, “Good morning, Captain!” rang out as Jim made his way to his chair. Lieutenant Kumari pushed herself out of it.

“Good morning, Sir,” she repeated, once on her feet. “Nothing to report.”

“Well done, Lieutenant,” Jim said. “You’re relieved.”

He placed his PADD on the chair and wasted no time with walking over to the science station.

“Good morning, Mister Spock.” Jim’s voice indicated nothing unusual.

Spock’s head barely moved to the side and then he stood straight, reaching behind him and pulling the back of his shirt down. His shoulders were stiff and his chin elevated as he slowly turned. His eyes met Jim’s and immediately wandered to the side. “Good morning, Captain.”

“Anything to report?” Jim questioned.

“There has been no indication of any abnormalities occurring during the night watch.”

Jim studied Spock in silence for several seconds, noting the rigidness in his posture and lack of eye contact. Finally, he dissolved the immediate tension. “Very well. As you were.”

With his tritanium walls of professionality built around him, Jim returned to the center seat, picked up his PADD, and sat down. If there was anything he had going for him in this situation, it was one hell of a poker face. A public place was no place at all for dramatics—certainly not on the bridge and _especially_ not when he was on duty. It was rule number one in the book of leadership: don’t compromise others for the sake of private affairs.

Jim raised his right leg to cross over his left and he relaxed into his seat, beginning to review and approve the roster schedule for the next cycle. Uhura arrived, and then Scotty. Sulu and Chekov showed up together, and finally even McCoy showed his face.

McCoy made small talk, obviously to study Jim, and when he appeared to be pleased that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, Jim knew that there was no one on the bridge who knew better. Except for Spock.

Lunch break rolled around and introduced another temporary swing shift so that the on-duty crew could eat. The lift was filled with the entire team, including the captain and his first officer. They stood at opposite ends of the small space.

“Everyone going to the mess?” Uhura asked. After a few yeses, she took hold of a lever and said, “Deck six.”

Spock immediately grabbed the one closest to him and announced, “Deck nine.”

Predictable; it was the level with the major science labs. Two could play at that game. Jim took the lever at his side and announced, “Deck seventeen.” Stage set and matched.

The lift quickly descended to let everyone else off on level six, leaving Jim and Spock alone. When the doors closed and they began moving, Jim grasped the gray handle again and commanded, “Stop.”

Finally, they were together and Jim could get some answers. “All right.”

Once again, Spock’s spine stiffened and his chin raised. His dark eyes were glued to the far wall and he refused to look at Jim. “Captain, I must—”

“ _Spock_.” Jim stepped closer to him. Finally, Spock’s gaze met his but it immediately retreated again. “What happened with your parents, your father?”

Shaking his head, Spock closed his eyes and simply replied, “The ambassador is in perfect health.”

“Then what—”

“Please, Captain.” Spock’s lashes parted, but he avoided looking at Jim again. There was an uncharacteristic roughness in his voice. “I have important work to attend to and I cannot discuss this now.”

“Very well,” Jim agreed in the same tone. “Later. My quarters after beta shift, specifically at 17:15. Do you consent?”

Swallowing, Spock’s face barely fell in a nod.

Jim grabbed the lever again. “Resume.” There was a pause. “Spock, for what it’s worth, I’m glad your father is okay.” He looked down to the floor, his voice softening. “And more than that, for what it's worth, I’m sorry.”

There was no proper time for Spock to reply to that, as the lift arrived on deck nine right after Jim finished speaking. As Spock slowly walked out, he could sense the pointed stare upon him and had the urge to say something—what that was, he wasn’t even sure. Perhaps he should verbally confirm his agreement to meet later, or ask for clarification regarding what exactly the apology was for.

Mirroring the way he’d left Jim’s quarters the night before, Spock hesitantly looked over his shoulder. This time, however, he didn’t see the same soft hazel eyes before the doors closed and whatever words he was thinking of saying were stolen right from his lips. He inhaled a choppy breath.

Spock was punctual. The door chimed at the exact moment his presence was requested.

Jim had been sitting in his quarters for the last ten minutes, his elbows upon the desk and hands clasped. His thumbs had been pensively pressed to his lips for the entire duration of his wait, and they finally dropped.

“Come,” called Jim, immediately rising to his feet.

He found Spock’s narrow figure in the doorway—so familiar, yet so foreign now—and remained silent while he entered. The entrance shut and then it was only the two of them. Spock’s attention clearly went to the two place settings that were still left out, then to their unfinished chess match setup, and finally landed on some obscure point on the floor behind Jim. He appeared displaced. Trapped.

Jim’s shoulders lifted with a deep inhale and then he held a hand out to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Please.”

“I prefer to stand,” Spock replied in near monotone. “Captain.”

Cupping the back of his neck, Jim rubbed the stiffness out of his muscles and just took a moment to center himself. He peered up at Spock, who was still avoiding his eyes.

“Look, Spock…” he began, approaching but stopped when there was a reasonable distance between them. “I want to apologize if—”

“There is nothing that you have done which warrants an apology.” Spock stared at the far wall.

“What’s with the tension then?” Jim asked, his voice softening. He slowly lifted his right hand to take Spock’s arm, but stopped when it barely moved away from his grasp. His face contorted into a mixed expression of confusion and concern. “Spock.” When that didn’t earn Jim his attention, he repeated himself. “ _Spock_.”

The dark eyes closed. If Jim could see the hands clasped behind the blue tunic, he would find them clenched so hard that they could nearly draw blood.

“What happened with your parents?” Jim squinted, trying to make sense of the Spock he knew so well versus the one who stood before him now. “Do you need meditation? Is it because—”

“On the contrary, Captain,” Spock suddenly interjected. He cast his sight to the floor again and when he felt his hands begin to tremble, he fisted them even harder. “It is I who must apologize to you.”

Jim shook his head. Even he was surprised at how gentle his voice was when he replied, “I’m not following you. Please explain.”

“I have not come here to converse. Rather…I would issue a request.”

Jim remained completely still, his brows pulled together and the unease he would wear only in privacy now frozen on his face. Slowly, he replied, “What…kind of request?”

“I request—” Spock immediately stopped when his words were spoken too hoarsely. He licked his lips and drew in a breath, trying again and sounding only slightly smoother. “I request…to take a leave of absence.” A pause. “To Vulcan.”

“Vulcan?” Jim repeated. “I thought you said your father—”

“The ambassador is in pristine health. He was exposed to a virus but had not contracted it. That, however, was not the real purpose of my mother’s correspondence. Nor is it the reason I must take leave there.”

“Spock…” Jim glanced down to his polished boots, keeping himself calm and collected. “You’re not giving me enough here. You can start by just looking at me.” Their eyes finally met. “If you need space or time, it’s yours. But all I want to know is why.” Shaking his head, Jim’s arms unraveled and he took one step closer.

“Why,” Spock reiterated in a whisper, his brows slightly raising.

Jim had so many queries that could begin with that word. _Why couldn’t you tell me this last night?_ _Why have you been avoiding me? Why was your side of the bed empty?_ His attention fell to Spock’s rigid stature. _Why are you so stiff? Why can’t you even look at me?_

However, after all this, just one question left Jim’s lips. “Why do you need to go to Vulcan?”

The silence hung low and heavy between, like a dense fog. Jim could nearly taste the tensity on his tongue, feel it crawling over his skin. He'd asked the same question before during the beginning of their second year of the mission...before Spock admitted to suffering from the blood fever. His intuition kicked in. The red alert in the back of his head kicked in. A very familiar sinking feeling he’d known too many times in his life followed, and just as Jim was about speak, he lost his chance.

“My presence has been requested by the ambassador.” Spock paused, turning his face to the side. His lips curled in for but a moment before they released and without facing his captain again, he continued. And though his voice was steady, his words were quiet. “It is his wish to formally introduce the one he has selected to become my wife.”

Jim’s eyes barely widened and every inch of his body, every fiber of his being, froze over—including his heart, which stopped beating as the entire universe cracked and shattered like glass, right between his own two hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers: [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979), [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix)  
> \- [Pywren](http://pywren.tumblr.com), for the super special insight when I needed it most <333  
> \- You, for reading!! <3
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My presence has been requested by the ambassador.” Spock paused, turning his face to the side. His lips curled in for but a moment before they released and without facing his captain again, he continued. And though his voice was steady, his words were quiet. “It is his wish to formally introduce the one he has selected to become my wife.”
> 
> Jim’s eyes barely widened and every inch of his body, every fiber of his being, froze over—including his heart, which stopped beating as the entire universe cracked and shattered like glass, right between his own two hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! My apologies for the two month waiting time. Other fandom projects happened and it took me literally one month alone to finish this chapter. It was rough...
> 
> THANK YOU for all your support! Special thanks to [Akai](http://spockshair.tumblr.com), [captainkaltar](http://captainkaltar.tumblr.com), [robotalittlebit](http://robotalittlebit.tumblr.com), and [that-hippy-girl-art](http://that-hippy-girl-art.tumblr.com) for sending me super kind words. <333
> 
> But most of all, thank **you** for sticking with me and waiting it out for two months. ahhh!  <333
> 
> Heartfelt gratitude goes to [nim-lock](http://nim-lock.tumblr.com/art), [Pywren](http://pywren.tumblr.com), and [sleepymccoy](http://sleepymccoy.tumblr.com/search/shannon+rose) for being amazing and contributing art for this chapter!

**.* Chapter 8 *.**

Time stopped. Neither moved. Neither spoke. It could have lasted for a minute, or an hour. No more than a pair of scrupulously chiseled statues in a museum, Jim and Spock had become frozen within an infinite moment: the former, a portrait of muddled trepidation, the latter of palpable misery.

They both put on such an inanimate emotional display that it was artistically ingenious.

Beneath the marble, the flesh, the outward silence and stillness, a cacophony of voices shouted and echoed as the inevitable turmoil began. The chaos of Jim’s thoughts started with confusion, rapidly shifted to dread, then terror, and finally, they circled back to the beginning. His breathing had hitched at some point, his lungs rendered immobile.

At last, a hairline crack formed in the masterpiece when Jim blinked, and another when his lips parted. Dizziness set in. The space was too warm, the air too stale. He finally inhaled, closed his eyes for long enough to release it, and then reopened them.

“I—” Jim shook his head with force, and wet his lips. “What? I’m sorry, I didn’t—” He swallowed both the hoarseness from his voice and nausea creeping up his throat. He’d heard it. Biding his time to remain calm, Jim continued, “Please, could you repeat—”

“The ambassador has…” Jim’s extensive knowledge of Spock’s mannerisms dictated that those words should have been delivered in a formal tone, the one he always used when speaking of his father. However, this time, his voice was soft.

The sound of it apparently alarmed even Spock, as his stiff shoulders rose slightly and he automatically sought out Jim’s gaze…a habit he’d developed when he faced uncertainty. When their eyes met, Spock’s barely widened and he promptly averted them to the sleeping alcove.

“He has—”

“ _Spock_.”

Spock jerked his chin up and twitched his brows inward for a split second, without pulling his attention from the meaningless place it landed on the bed. Their bed. What _was_ their bed.

Jim’s hands snapped to Spock’s arms in a firm grasp, willing the lump that had formed in his throat and the lightheadedness affecting his stomach into the back of his thoughts. With muted desperation, he pushed. “Spock. Please.” He gave him a shake that was both stiff and gentle and then demanded, “What did you tell him?”

Spock’s eyes closed, his mouth barely opening enough to breathe through it. Jim frantically searched his face and then he shook him once more, repeating himself in a harsh whisper. “ _What_ did you tell him?”

Just when it looked like no answer would ever come, it did.

“Yes.”

Jim stared unblinking at Spock’s face, his mouth dry and heart pounding so loudly that his ears ached from the throbbing of his pulse. His brow furrowed and he shook his head as the threat sunk in, that one simple, common word could be the undoing of his entire universe.

He refused to allow it.

“Yes? Yes to what? Yes, that you’ll go?” The volume of Jim’s voice elevated, mirroring the sheer panic swelling inside his chest. It quickly flooded over, spilling down the pathways of his veins and making him jittery and overly aware of his surroundings. “That you’ll humor him? That you’ll meet this person just to satisfy his efforts?”

He stared as Spock’s lashes parted, only to see him focus somewhere on the floor. Jim licked his lips and his eyes flicked back and forth across Spock’s face as he desperately searched for even an inkling of an answer—a subtle Vulcan twitch or any other barely-there indication of emotion that would hint just enough.

When none was offered, a hand raised to cup Spock’s cheek and Jim pressed gently upon the supple skin there to turn his face to him. Jim’s shoulders rose as his other hand followed the same action on the opposite side, his large digits splayed out across and beneath Spock’s pointed ears.

“Is this what you’re telling me?” Jim pressed with urgency, while tilting his head back and breathing harder. The heightened strength in his tone reflected the times he’d been severely threatened on the bridge, when his words carried exponentially more weight only because they’d been spoken from a captain’s lips. “Because I can’t see it any other way.”

As Spock simply drew in a deep breath and every horrifying assumption had come much too close to being silently confirmed, Jim’s fingers flexed and he gave a careful shake to Spock’s head. “ _Spock_! Is it?!”

With that, Spock’s eyes shot open widely. His hands whipped up from behind him, snapped firmly to Jim’s wrists, and thrust them back to free his face from being held; he would have done anything— _anything_ —to remove the raw emotion flooding straight through the contact of Jim’s palms with his psi points.

“ _Jim_.” Spock stumbled backward to prevent those hands from latching onto him again, and he pivoted in a half circle, turning away and then pacing toward the bed. He stopped beside the room divider, his fingers curling into fists at his side. “Please understand.”

“Understand what?!”

“Please,” Spock began again, lifting his face and turning it slightly but making no move to look at Jim. “I do not deserve your forgiveness and I will not ask for it.”

“Forgiveness? For what?” Jim retorted from behind, his words growing in volume as he strode toward him. “Your father pressuring you? I wouldn’t say that’s your fault at all, Spock.”

The head of black hair fell, and then shook. One of the hands at Spock’s side unclenched and raised to the edge of his face, his fingers slipping into a familiar pattern over his psi points and holding their position. Even from the back, Jim recognized it immediately: it was a centering practice, one used for focusing and rebalance.

Spock was constructing a wall and a sweeping wave of near-hysteria overcame Jim at the thought of that, of being shut out during a time when they were both so vulnerable—especially Spock. It was just like the transport mission to Babel all over again, and when that connection was made, all of the unpleasant memories from that time resurfaced.

“Again, he did this to you,” Jim seethed, reaching out and grabbing Spock’s right shoulder. “Listen to me. It’s going to be all right. You don’t—”

“Jim, _please_!” Spock rasped, jerking away from his touch and whirling on the soles of his boots with newly found strength. Finally, _finally_ , their eyes met and stayed locked. Both breathed heavily in the awkward silence that persisted for several moments.

“I am Vulcan.” The declaration was made with a lifting of the chin once more. “There are certain duties that I must fulfil which are both necessary for my survival and to the honor of my family...”

“ _Don’t_ talk to me about duty and honor.” Jim inclined his head in parallel to Spock’s movement. “Or survival, as if I don’t already know.”

“…certain _obligations_ which must be satisfied,” Spock continued, not allowing himself to be derailed. “A human has no concept.” He exhaled then. “Jim, you cannot understand. I do not wish for you to.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” The words tumbled carelessly from Jim’s lips as he raised one hand before him to stop Spock and then brought it to his forehead. His fingertips docked at his brow momentarily before they fell to his side. “Slow down. Explain to me exactly what happened because you’re jumping from here to there and back to here and I’m not following _any_ of this. Start with your father.”

After taking a deep breath, Spock swallowed and steeled himself. “The ambassador has located a suitable mate for me.” He spoke plainly, as if it were ship’s business or some other type of formality; Jim immediately identified it as a defense mechanism. “He has requested I take leave on Vulcan to meet her and make the necessary arrangements for a bonding ceremony.”

Fury surged within Jim as the pieces of the puzzle abruptly fell into place, and all of the panic and desperation instantly morphed into a blaze of anger fueled by one catalyst: Sarek. Sarek and his penchant for coercion, accompanied by that aloof, frigid gaze which could tear his son to shreds without the need for words. Sarek, the Vulcan ambassador, Spock’s father, and a one-time honored guest aboard the Enterprise. _Sarek_. Naturally.

Jim had harbored nothing but respect for him and his accomplishments; he’d chalked up his initial observations of Sarek’s dismissive behavior toward Spock to family issues which didn’t concern him. Though the rift in the S’chn T’gai clan had been somewhat bridged by the end of that mission, there was still a strange taste left in the mouth when the ambassador and his wife disembarked from the Enterprise.

Watching Sarek and Spock awkwardly taking leave of each other in the hangar with a simple ta’al and unspoken goodbye had left Jim wondering if the divide between them could ever be completely healed. At least, there’d been some noticeable improvement; that Sarek had even acknowledged Spock’s presence was a starting place and Jim hoped it’d been a sign for better days to come for father and son.

However, all he could imagine now were those cold Vulcan eyes boring into Spock and reducing him to nothing more than a child yet again. Jim could just hear that clinical tone once more making demands and delivering carefully hidden insults, cutting Spock down in the same way as when he was aboard the ship.

_Of course_. So, that was the answer to all the mysteries. Spock’s erratic behavior made sense in this light, and Jim’s clarity enabled him to reestablish the feeling of being in control of himself. He knew that Spock needed him now more than ever, to do damage control and reassure him—to remind him that he was perfect as he was, both Vulcan enough and human enough, and enough of anything else he could ever want to be as well.

Still, resentment simmered deeply within Jim as he was again left asking the same questions that he had back then. How could Sarek do this? How could he hurt this person—his own son and albeit secretly, the one Jim adored so much—who was so unique and gentle and kind? Did he think Spock incapable of finding a bondmate on his own, just as he’d judged Spock as being unable to find a successful career in Starfleet?

For the sake of them both, he willed himself to quiet his inner voices.

 

 

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/6yrxK10.png)

(This stunning art is by the amazing [sleepymccoy](http://sleepymccoy.tumblr.com/search/shannon+rose)!!)

 

“I get it,” Jim finally said and then exhaled. “I get it now. You don’t have to explain further. …Look. It’s going to be okay.” He reached to take hold of the blue-clad arms but his hands froze when Spock stepped backward shaking his head.

“You do not understand.”

Jim’s arms remained outstretched.

“I will comply with his wishes.” A pause. Spock’s eyes flicked away just before he added above a whisper, “And his recommendation.”

A short silence followed. Jim’s hands dropped. His mouth opened. It closed and then opened again. He blinked.

“What…” Jim shook his head rapidly, the gravelly texture of his voice rife with a certain sound that even the most emotionally-repressed Vulcan could understand. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I am asking you,” Spock quietly began. His arms stiffened as the hands behind his back were clasped strongly. His lips pulled into a tight line and then he breathed out. “I am asking you to accept that our personal relationship must be terminated.”

“No.”

Their eyes met.

“No,” Jim repeated strongly. “No, I won’t accept that because it’s not what you or I or both of us want and I’m damn sure of it. _Spock_!” His stiff posture melted in a moment of sheer desperation and he reached to take Spock’s arms again; this time, he was successful and his hands grasped them with force. “This is all because your father guilted you into going along with it, and I can’t, I _won’t_ accept—”

“He did not use such a tactic.”

“Then why are you agreeing to this?!” Jim demanded. “We’ve been together nearly three years—three _years_! It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Jim…” Spock waited for quiet, allowing a few seconds to pass so he could keep controls as robust as possible. “On the observation deck, you spoke of destiny. Of fate. Such a concept does not exist in Vulcan culture, but if it did…” His slender hands rose and landed on the larger ones that had gripped his biceps. With his thumbs pressing to the center of Jim’s palms, Spock took hold of them and gently pulled them off. “…this path would be mine to follow regardless if it were presented to me by Sarek or not.”

Shaking his head slowly, Spock lowered their hands between them and gently placed Jim’s at his side before retracting his own. “This has already gone too far.” He made the error of whispering it, but his voice had been lost by that time from the transference he received through touching Jim.

“No,” Jim insisted calmly, shaking his head and wetting his lips. His eyes fell and roamed from side to side quickly, his thoughts in overdrive. “No. This doesn’t make any sense. And whatever it is that’s making you say this…” He began moving backward, little by little until his legs bumped into the edge of the desk. “Whatever you can’t tell me at the moment…I’m…going to get to the bottom of.” He nodded. “I’ll figure it out.”

“There can be no justification for my actions.” Spock tore his attention from Jim, unable to observe the damage he’d caused any longer. “I have dishonorably involved you in an affair that should have never existed.”

“Spock.”

“And furthermore, have managed to inadvertently instill false hope within you. I have behaved inappropriately—”

“ _What the hell_ …” Jim muttered to himself beneath his breath, his eyes scanning over the floor again as he attempted to put all of this information together…tried to make sense of how they’d gone from Jim waking up lying half on top of Spock to this situation in a proverbial blink of an eye. Something was missing to the equation, something Spock couldn’t tell him.

“—foolishly, overly human. And the implications of such actions…” Spock trailed off, turning to face the divider. “I do not deserve forgiveness, but I wish to inform you, Jim…”

Jim’s face slowly lifted, taking in the view of the person he had spent years loving. Spock largely maintained his Vulcan stoicism as he rattled off these empty words, but Jim knew him well enough to recognize all of the signs that indicated he was more affected than he was willing to let on. And at the moment, Spock certainly was.

It wasn’t the first indication. Jim had known something was off since the dinner after the last mission. He blinked. The mission…the flowers…

“…this had never been my intention.”

“Spock…” Jim began, pushing himself off the desk and extending his arms before him. His feet dragged across the carpet while he shuffled several steps forward. “Spock, this isn’t—”

The bosun whistle sounded off then, followed by the voice of the communications swing-shift operator. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

Jim’s outstretched open hands dropped and closed into loose fists. Why now? Why at this very second? He shut his eyes to center himself and assume the role of captain once more. After straightening his spine and pushing his shoulders back, he walked to the panel near the doorway. He cleared his throat and a wave of his hand before the sensor turned a green light on. “Kirk here.”

“Excuse the interruption of your off duty time, Captain, but there’s a priority one visual communication from Starfleet Command. Admiral Komack requested to speak with you as soon as possible. He’s standing by.”

“Acknowledged,” Jim replied and then made an impulsive decision. “Ensign, patch him into conference room 5A. I’m on my way there now.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Kirk out.” His hand waved again before the sensor to terminate communication, and then docked it next to the panel once the green light went out.

Jim’s eyes closed for but a moment. The professional surroundings of the conference room would assist in keeping himself together and remaining the stunning example he’d proven to be over the course of his captaincy.

“Spock.” Jim’s voice was gentle. His digits tightened into a fist and his lashes parted slowly. He stared at the gray wall beneath the panel. “After all this time, we’ve always been able to talk. When I come back, that’s exactly what I want to do.”

Jim lifted his face, finding Spock in the same location as before; he appeared so distant, so unreachable but also vulnerable and hurting in his own way. “Please, when I return, let’s do that.” Without another word, he picked up his PADD, stepped into the corridor, and left Spock standing alone.

For a long while, Spock remained completely still, until he began to look around him—at the drawers and bunkers and closet which housed so many of his personal possessions.

Spock’s entire life had moved to this side of the wall which divided their quarters and yet, now it seemed like all of this had been some surreal fairytale. It was as if he were looking through a portal which showed a parallel version of his existence in another universe, one where this place had been and forever would be home.

This was neither a storybook nor a dream, however. Perhaps, up until this point, it’d been so perfect that it could’ve been one. But now…

His hands clenched at his sides. Now, it was time to wake up.

 

Survival and putting on fancy shows for the sake of others were two things James Kirk succeeded gloriously at; they were talents which made him notorious, both in command chairs and at poker tables, and contributed to a certain fame that had him feeling more than slightly uncomfortable.

Jim had always found the manner in which others viewed him to be curious; it wasn’t long before he’d observed that his presence evoked immediate feelings of either kinship or awe without anyone even knowing him personally. After a few friendly slaps on the shoulder from equal or higher ranking Starfleet officers and seeing ones lower in the chain fidget nervously upon first meeting him, Jim knew he possessed a reputation which preceded him.

But how he got it…well, that was largely due to his competency in the service and partly to a legend created by word of mouth.

Assumptions about his character were made wholly on the face he showed the outside: strong and resolute, confident yet caring, intelligent with cunning to boot. This was all the universe would know and could know of Jim—never the personal cost which needed to be factored into that heroic picture he made, never the struggle of needing to maintain multiple selves for the sake of a greater good.

Despite his personal sacrifices, Jim could attribute to those assumptions his ability to sit at the conference table now with an outward impassivity which gave no glint of the inner peril threatening to close off his throat. He swallowed, sitting in the usual place with his hands clasped before his PADD on the polished surface.

The lights had been dimmed and the holoprojector initiated. An optical lens had dropped from the ceiling via a retractable pole and though it was positioned directly behind the reflection of The United Federation of Planets emblem, its adaptable camouflage casing allowed it to blend in with the surroundings; it was a convenient piece of technology which allowed two parties to speak and easily maintain eye contact, as though they were in the same room.

Soft lights shined on Jim’s face from both the ceiling and a strip of illumination embedded into the table to make his face naturally visible without casting strange shadows. His hands gripped each other tighter, as he began to wonder just how long he could maintain this massive front while staring at a logo in a room much too silent.

Jim’s face snapped forward and the muscles in his arms stiffened when the holoprojector image brightened, revealing Admiral Komack sitting at a large faux mahogany desk. The Terran sun streaked through the grand windows of his office in San Francisco, increasing the backlighting and causing him to appear even more imposing than he typically was.

Still, Jim wasn’t shaken; he was used to the stuffiness of the top brass and forever grateful to not be one of them.

“Captain Kirk.”

“Admiral Komack,” Jim replied with a curt nod. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

“We’re both busy, Kirk,” Komack replied with usual cold formality in his voice, “so let’s cut right to the chase.”

“As you wish.”

Komack’s fingers drummed on the table and he looked off to the right of his desk, where a PADD resided. After sliding it so that it was directly in front of him, the data on the device’s screen scrolled with the motion of his eyes and then he redirected his attention back to Jim. “I understand the Enterprise is currently en route to Mir VI.”

“That’s correct,” Jim verified. “A routine survey assignment.”

“Change of plans, Kirk,” Komack announced, his demeanor as stone-like and as unreadable as Jim’s own. “Consider the Mir VI mission voided from this moment on. New orders were uploaded several hours ago and should be available at your location soon through the intel net.”

“Understood.” Jim’s eyes lifted away from the lens and he commanded, “Computer, force a system ops update beginning in thirty minutes, and querying every five thereafter until new data is available. Code alpha-three-nine-one-Kirk.”

“ _System ops update scheduled_.”

Jim’s attention returned to Komack. “Can I ask what prompted the change?”

“To preface, the Lexington ran into some hostile company while it was in transit to the Raxi’ir system.” The admiral’s voice upped a notch in severity, conveying his displeasure with the news. “Orion pirates after dilithium again. The ship took some fire along the starboard bow, which triggered an electrical fire and a short circuit detonation at the helm.”

Jim’s lips pulled in. “Injuries?”

“Bob Wesley got the worst of it but it’s nothing fatal. He was over his navigator’s shoulder when the console blew and ended up with some burn wounds to the face. You can read the full report if you want, but that’s not the point.” Komack’s hands folded before him on the desk. “The Enterprise is the nearest jewel of the fleet to that sector, and I need you to fill in for the Lexington’s absence at a key diplomatic ceremony.”

With his brows pulling in, Jim swiped his PADD and accessed the mission database. “The Lexington was due to arrive at…” The harshness in his expression lessened with a muted surprise. “…Gantir.”

“A strategic location. You know why we can’t afford to botch this.”

“I’m well aware of Gantir’s importance. The disruption of supply ships passing through that system has been troublesome for everyone—even us,” Jim said, resting his device down and leaning back. He drew an inhale that was marginally deeper than usual. “But diplomacy? Already? Hasn’t it been only two months since the ruling magistrate was assassinated?”

“That planet’s been torn by civil war for over sixty-three years now. Any shadow of order which existed prior to his murder went straight to hell.” Komack’s hands folded. “It’s complete anarchy. The trade route’s been shuttered after the plundering of two supply ships carrying food and medicine. And that, Kirk, is the turning point we’ve been waiting for.”

Komack didn’t specify what that entailed, and he didn’t need to. Jim was well aware that the Federation had long been seeking a legitimate reason to get involved with the Gantirian conflict to stabilize the trade route to their advantage. There’d been no legal way to do it that wouldn’t violate Prime Directive…until now.

“And our orders?” Jim asked.

“Ambassador ch’Vralla of Andoria was dispatched to conduct peace talks. Word was sent that he’s feeling confident about having an armistice signed as soon as we present it.” Komack’s face drew closer to the screen. “And I’m going to ensure we _do_ present it as soon as possible. This nonsense is going to end immediately and the route will reopen like nothing ever happened.”

Jim raised his hand. “Message received, Admiral. I understand what’s at stake here and will comply with the change in orders.”

“Good. Now, the Lexington’s laid over at Starbase 312 for repairs and use of medical facilities. I’ll be reassigning the Mir VI survey mission to her when all is settled with the personnel. Unless there’s anything further…”

“Yes, Admiral, there is. How is this adjustment in schedule to affect the completion of the Alkar Beta mission?” Jim inquired. Beneath the table, his foot began tapping softly. He wanted to let it go; he really did. While he held himself together without fail, he badly needed to return to Spock and settle their business; Jim couldn’t even imagine what Spock was thinking now that he was alone when he needed someone most. A captain had no luxury of putting personal discomfort above all the crew’s, though.

Komack’s features steeled at that question, obviously perplexed by it. “Without negotiation, Alkar Beta remains your responsibility. I’ve reviewed the highlights of your report retrieved from the intel net, but that alone was enough to convince me it’s imperative that you keep control of the mission for safety reasons.”

Jim sighed on the inside. He’d expected that kind of response, but there was no time left to waste negotiating over logistical moves when he knew he was right. He would have to quickly make his point, drive it home, and emerge successful in a short span of time. Fortunately, Jim was a master at the art of persuasion and had some shortcuts up his sleeve.

First, the empathy.

“Agreed,” Jim replied. “And I _do_ share the same concerns, Admiral. In that case, request permission to delay collecting sample readings.”

“Out of the question!” Komack snapped. “You said it in your own report, Kirk. The pollen discovered on that planet is a possible threat to Federation security and we need to understand what it is and how to counteract it before we find ourselves with a massive social engineering crisis.”

Next, the bluff.

Jim huffed. “Sir, in all the time I’ve been in command of this vessel I’ve never pushed back when new orders were handed down.”

A brow shot up. “Are you telling me you’re defying direct orders?”

Third, the facts.

“No,” Jim replied. “But what I _am_ saying is that this ship has gone more than seven months without standard maintenance or a proper resupply.” He diverted his gaze down to his PADD to check his figures. “Our rerouting to Gantir, the consequential layover, and voyage back would allow us to arrive just in time for our own scheduled rendezvous with Starbase 312. We’re already long overdue for diagnostics and routine safety checks, and I can’t authorize the Enterprise returning to a volatile binary star system without a green light.”

“Your concerns are noted, but it doesn’t change the fact that those sample collections can’t be delayed. You’ll have to make do.”

Fourth, the compromise.

“A suggestion, if I might? One that’ll satisfy both of us?” Jim offered. “Since the Lexington’s schedule is already undefined for the near future, I propose I board her at the starbase and take members of the science team from her crew to Alkar Beta.”

Komack sat back in his chair, his hands gripping the front of the armrests.

“The collection is done on time with a vessel that’s just been under full maintenance. I’ll have all information securely transferred to an encrypted sector of the databanks and will personally ensure the success and safety of the mission by leading it. All the while, my ship is taken care of. And not to mention my crew,” Jim added. “Shore leave’s been pushed back twice already, and they’ve taken the news with understanding and humility. I’m not willing to do it to them for a third time.”

Victory.

Pursing his lips, Komack reached for his PADD and after a short moment of sifting through a few pages of information, he nodded. “Very well, Kirk. Approved. You’ll find the update to the Alkar Beta mission for review as soon as possible, and I’ll make contact with Wesley’s second in command to debrief her.”

“I’ll get a jumpstart on necessary preparations to transfer all data while waiting for those revisions to come through.”

“Good. Anything further?”

“No, Sir.”

“Acknowledged. Komack out.”

…Perhaps there was something to those legend stories after all. If Jim could sway a hardass like Komack into being agreeable by using a tried and true coercion formula, maybe that warranted some admiration. That, however, was the furthest thing from his mind.

The holoprojector image dimmed when the connection was cut, and Jim was immediately on his feet with his PADD in hand.

“Computer, holoprojector off, lights on energy conservation mode.”

His rapid steps carried him directly to the door and out into the hallway without ever looking back. He had to keep it together for long enough until he was in the privacy of his quarters. If Jim had to keep these discorded, destructive emotions at bay for any longer than that, he was positive he would explode.

As fast as his legs could carry him, Jim made his way down the corridor leading to the wing that housed the living quarters; when his heart began to pound and every step felt too slow, he found himself elevating his pace from a brisk walk to an all-out sprint like he were running for his life.

In a way, Jim was.

 

_Control. It is of the mind and therefore, it can be controlled._

It was greater than a mantra, and more than a simple grounding technique. At the moment, it was a means of remaining sane. All that he needed to do was concentrate on something, anything, other than the task at hand.

_It is of the mind. The mind can be controlled. Work more quickly, work more efficiently, do not think of what is being done or why._

Spock busied himself with mathematical calculations, mentally laboring through equations to tweak the intermix formula and maximize ship efficiency at warp and sub-warp speeds. After months out in space with no routine maintenance issued, other than by onboard engineering personnel, performance had minimally slipped. It could have gone unnoticed; however, top efficacy was important to the Chief Science Officer.

…especially when he was desperate to be distracted.

_The current depletion figure of the matter and antimatter tanks is four-tenths. Beginning from the base intermix quota of 25:1 when the core is in an idle state, the ratio at which the injectors must be primed shall be increased by point three percent to begin._

In less than ten minutes, neat piles of clothing were stacked on Spock’s bed. While they were in plain sight as he swiftly strode between his quarters and Jim’s, he didn’t allow himself a moment’s rest from his calculations to regard them or acknowledge why they were there. Waves of numbers continued to occupy his mind while he moved back and forth mechanically, as if he were no more than a machine.

_With the updated ratio of the intermix formula passing through the injectors, peak performance will be maintained despite the current conditions_...

Finally, Spock returned to his side for good with a heap of robes in his arms; they were all folded meticulously over individual hangers. The door to the shared bathroom shut behind him.

_…allowing for a smoother transition to an updated 9.8:1 ratio, better easing the coils into warp drive._

His steps took him to the closet that had remained largely abandoned for years, and Spock carefully hooked each hanger on the bar. When the robes were all hung and smoothed out, he pushed them apart to make the small space look fuller; however, even with the reintroduction of his Vulcan attire, it looked too empty.

It was because Jim’s clothes were missing. But Spock didn’t allow himself to think of that. He simply spread the robes out even further, and moved on to the next task while continuing his intermix adjustments.

_As for warp two, the ratio must be adjusted from 8:1 to 7.7:1._

Indeed, the extra pair of boots and small box including other possessions would need to settle into their own appropriate places once more as well. Spock would need to figure out the proper locations later. For now, the small shelf above the robes would suffice. Terrans sometimes called this _out of sight, out of mind_.

He put the box on the ledge for future sorting, and then placed the boots in the bottom back corner.

_It is unlikely that this vessel will be taken to maximum warp, not with the upcoming mission to Mir VI and the impending shore leave…_

Shore leave.

The warmth and dim lighting offered no comfort to Spock as he came to a full stop. His defenses snapped in place at the stray thought of that topic, and he remained so motionless that the automatic closet doors shut before him.

_Everything is of the mind_ , Spock reminded himself. _The mind is a logical organ._

He about-faced and began quickly removing the piles of neatly folded uniform tunics and trousers from the bed. They were divided across two empty drawers. When there was no more room, he opened a third.

_The mind fabricates everything_.

Spock began picking up the remaining tunics on his bed, stacking them in his arms in order to move them to the last drawer.

_Pain and suffering are governable. The sensation of loss is also._

He reached for the second to last garment.

_Affection is not spared from this. Affection is…_

When he lifted it, he froze. His breath hitched. His eyes remained unblinking.

Spock’s arms gave out, and his hands fell like lead weights at his sides. The neat stack of shirts he’d been holding tumbled to the floor about his feet, his train of thought entirely obliterated when he discovered a gold tunic had been buried at the bottom of all his clothing.

In his haste to remove all possessions from the captain’s quarters before Jim’s return, Spock had made a grave error; he was so quick to withdraw what little he owned that he’d unknowingly taken a shirt which didn’t belong to him from one of the cabinets.

He’d been so distracted while relocating everything he owned back to this side that he hadn’t noticed his mistake. Until now.

It would be a simple tunic by anyone else’s standards, except perhaps for the rarity of braids signifying the rank of captain. To Spock, however, the significance was so much more than a display of status or position. The tunic was a bitterly painful reminder of just what he had somehow become. His emotional reaction to simply _seeing_ it was proven by the clothing that had been haphazardly dropped to the floor: they, a metaphor for his inner struggles.

It was unVulcan-like to react in such a way to any sight, no matter what the circumstance was. Spock tore his gaze from the offending garment as he made fast work of picking up the tunics and placing them on his bed. He folded them quickly.

If Jim’s shirt alone could rouse this reaction in him after a few short years spent together, Spock couldn’t begin to imagine what would become of him much later in life. He would forever face the same inner struggle, a push and pull of needing to be Vulcan enough for societal requirements but sufficiently balanced out with his human half to satisfy a human mate.

The problem was that Spock hadn’t ever managed to successfully be enough of both—or enough of either, for that matter.

Jim demanded nothing from Spock, and never once asked for him to change a single thing. Despite that, Spock couldn’t ignore the prospect of how lonely it would be for a human to age alongside someone incapable of expressing love through spoken words, or holding hands outside the privacy of the bedroom. He was convinced now more than ever of this after the conference with his parents.

Spock dismissively dropped his freshly folded uniforms into the third drawer and closed it. Then, he looked at the last item remaining on his bed.

The gold tunic didn’t belong to him and thus, it needed to be returned. Immediately. Spock’s easiest options were leaving it in the shared bathroom or depositing in the laundry chute. Which would be the more Vulcan option, he wondered.

Vulcan. Human. Of both worlds and yet truly belonging to neither…

No. Spock lifted his head. He was certainly Vulcan. And Spock’s very Vulcan heart was not pounding because of the sight of a shirt. He wasn’t experiencing the perception of being gutted after removing every shred of himself from Jim’s quarters. He hadn’t dropped an armful of folded clothing in response to unexpectedly seeing one of Jim’s possessions. His mind hadn’t descended from intellectual order to emotional chaos.

It was all of the mind.

It could all be controlled.

His body stiffened as he reached for the gold fabric. Promptly, Spock made his way to the laundry slot and just as he shoved the garment into the opening, his grasp tightened on it instead of loosening.

His hand trembled.

_Let go. Let all of this go. What has been done is now done. You are Vulcan. Your blood will burn. But it will not taint his._

The slender fingers remained clamped, unwilling to obey those commands. Spock’s eyes focused then on the sparkly gold adornments and his memory was filled with how they looked about Jim’s wrists. He envisioned those large human hands—remembered how despite being strong and powerful, they caressed him with tenderness and reverence and respect.

_It cannot…_

They were the hands that landed on Spock’s shoulders to give him reassurance, the ones that gently took his own and massaged them in ways that caused indescribable reverberations within his very katra. They had stroked Spock’s cheek, swept up through his dark hair, massaged his back, and touched him in every place.

And now, they would never touch him again.

Now that he was no longer on autopilot and able to distract himself from the heart of the matter, the full force of what Spock had just done came crashing down on him. His entire existence aboard this ship had fallen into a very comfortable routine over the last two years, eleven months, and thirteen days. Yet after all that time, it only took a span of twenty-four hours to change everything—to rip all that Spock held dear to him, right from his grasp.

A trail of emotional carnage remained in the wake of everything that was lost. The fortress Spock took refuge within when he attempted to escape his inevitable fate had been constructed of glass. The curse of Pon Farr leered at him through these clear walls until they buckled and gave way, shattering and leaving him alone in an ocean of jagged edges he could feel but not see. Blood was in the water, and that water would never be pure again.

 

 

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/TzHK97u.png)

(This stunning art is by the amazing [nim-lock](http://nim-lock.tumblr.com/art)!!)

 

Among the wreckage remained this shirt. It was the only piece of Jim that would.

An overwrought impulse crashed against Spock’s shields when he realized that and he yanked the tunic away from the laundry chute. He stumbled on the soles of his boots, crashed to his knees upon his meditation mat beside the bed, and buried his face in the fabric, in Jim’s scent.

This was all Spock had left. There was no going back. Duty, honor, responsibilities, survival, what he truly wanted…they all paled in comparison to the alternative.

It didn’t matter how long Jim and he had shared their lives together already, or how much Spock desired to remain as they were and grow into something more. It didn’t matter how badly it hurt either of them. Jim’s soul flew on celestial wings. Spock wouldn’t, couldn’t, _refused_ to be the one to clip them.

If they remained together, if they bonded, that would be exactly what would come to pass. It wasn’t only Pon Farr and the lack of emotionalism or public display of affection that had convinced Spock of this. It was exactly what had just happened, here in his quarters once again: the ever waging war of inner struggle.

If Spock couldn’t satisfy himself or find comfort with who he was, how could he ever hope to be enough for an emotional human over the decades they would spend together? He couldn’t.

So, he ran as fast as he could. He ran to prevent himself from being pulled back into Jim’s embrace. He ran against his personal wishes, ran from his human half, attempted to take new refuge in a completely Vulcan space—only to wind up worse off here, because it was on this side where Spock realized that who he was really running from was not Jim, but himself.

A choppy exhale left his lips. What good had Jim ever seen in him? How had a human ever drawn the conclusion that he was desirable? After what he had just done, Spock was the furthest thing from it.

Without even allowing Jim the right of his own choice, Spock had removed all of his possessions from their shared space and ended their relationship as if it had been a one-way street all along. He’d distracted himself with intermix formula calculations—an excuse and a lie he told himself, one which allowed him to escape from the fact that was all too real now. He was feeling.

And at the moment, he felt too much.

Everything Spock had done over so many long years to establish his famed control disintegrated, leaving him raw and exposed to emotion he had no idea how to handle.

It hurt. It hurt so _much_. A broken gasp left Spock as he leaned forward until his arms hit the side of the mattress. He bent further still, burying his face deeper within Jim’s tunic and finally let himself hear the tragic truth his very logical mind was telling him.

He loved Jim.

In fact, he loved Jim so deeply and so strongly that he would do anything to protect him—even if it meant letting him go to find another who was better suited for him.

…Even if it meant bonding with another to spare Jim from the madness and loneliness and sacrifices that came with irreversibly committing to a lifetime of Vulcan culture.

Spock’s mind repeated this over and over as he breathed in the scent he loved most of all. And it was at that moment when he realized just how different the heart was from the brain, how illogical and frustrating…because despite every fiber of rationality that governed him, he still wanted Jim.

Somehow, Spock knew a part of him always would, even when he belonged to another. And he would.

Buried in Jim’s tunic, Spock recalled the conversation which had made his decision resolute and finalized the story of the rest of life.

 

“ _She is T’Pak_ ,” Sarek had said during their conference, while the holo-image of a Vulcan woman projected from the disc he held within his palm. “The one I have selected to be your bonded wife.”

Spock didn’t reply. He remained sitting still with his eyes focused on her face, until Sarek recaptured his attention with a question that bolstered every single control he had.

“This displeases you, Spock?”

Spock’s gaze immediately rose to meet his father’s. He ignored Amanda’s inquisitive stare. “I had not anticipated this...” He looked to the woman once again and his brows narrowed. “…conversation.”

“It is no matter,” Sarek replied. “She is of the esteemed Kuvak T’Saan clan.”

“An influential kin,” Spock affirmed. “This woman does not seem to be my age. Why has she not yet bonded?”

“T’Pak is indeed not your age.” Sarek placed the holo-image disc on the table and though the woman wasn’t physically there, her cold and impassive stare drilled right through Spock. Folding his hands in his lap, Sarek rested easily upon the bench. “She is sixty-three. Her bondmate has passed on and she seeks another, just as you do. It is an agreeable match on many levels, Spock. You will not find another as compatible with you as she.”

Quietly, Spock stared at T’Pak’s narrow face. Her eyes were dark and serious, her cheekbones high and prominent. Her lips were thin; certainly, she had never smiled widely. Dark hair framed her face; it appeared long and thick—possibly wiry to the touch and not soft, not _golden_.

In every way, she was the stark opposite of James Kirk.

“Spock?” Amanda prodded gently and sat up a little straighter. “What do you think?”

“Please narrow your inquiry.”

“Your first impression.”

Spock inwardly sighed. “My opinion of her appearance is irrelevant, Mother.”

“…Then what is it that you think about this situation?” Amanda asked. Spock never had the chance to answer the question.

“I have already approached Senkar, leader of the Kuvak T’Saan clan,” Sarek interjected. “She has offered her approval of the bonding, and desires to put all affairs in order as soon as possible. Thusly, you must inform me when you will be able to arrive on Vulcan. I shall make all arrangements at that time.”

Amanda raised her hand and extended it before Sarek’s chest to stop him. “Sarek, you do realize that Spock won’t be able to give us an answer right now.” She turned her face back to the lens and sent a severe, deliberate look—a silent message. “We understand your commitment to Starfleet, Spock. It’s impossible to give an answer at this moment, yes?”

“You are correct,” Spock replied with a nod. “I must contact you again once I review the duty schedule and my request for shore leave has been approved.”

“This was expected,” Sarek said. “However, I request that you do not delay. Senkar and I have thoroughly discussed the linking of our clans, and as both you and T’Pak are currently unpaired, it is illogical to allow time to pass needlessly.”

Spock’s eyes closed in acknowledgement.

Lifting his shoulders, Sarek straightened his back. “In that case, I shall take my leave of you.”

Spock’s hand raised in the ta’al and Sarek’s alike, before the older Vulcan stood and walked off. There was silence after he disappeared, which Spock interpreted as a sign to terminate the session.

“I shall also—”

“Spock,” Amanda interrupted him, sliding over to the center of the lens. “We need to talk.”

“Are we not already doing that, Mother?”

Her lips twitched at the corners and she shook her head. There was an old adage touting that children subconsciously sought mates who possessed character attributes with likeness to strong parental figures. Spock dismissed the idea as ludicrous when Amanda teasingly told him about it when he was younger. But today, he couldn’t deny that he saw so many of her mannerisms in Jim, and so much of his in her.

Spock’s familial bond with Amanda was special on Vulcan, if only because she treated him as any caring Terran mother would treat her Terran son. And while she vowed to live out her life the Vulcan way, there were bits and pieces of Earth which remained with her. They were largely emotional in nature, but different than the way other humans were; she was special in her own way and not overbearing, just like Jim.

“This must have been quite a shock to you,” Amanda said. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you better warning.”

Spock shook his head. “Mother—”

“But please know your father is doing this out of love for you, Spock.” She pushed a breath out of her nose. “I know neither of you would want to admit that, but it’s true. It doesn’t matter what happened before. He does love you and he only wants the best for you. He always has.”

What could be said to that? It was true that Sarek and Spock had become like oil and water once Starfleet tore them apart, but even then, Spock knew he could never hate his father and vice versa. However, hearing Amanda speaking of it openly with such emotion was extremely uncomfortable. It seemed she knew that and luckily, just carried on with her point.

“This is different from your choice to join Starfleet.”

Spock hadn’t been expecting those words and his eyes raised to hers. “I beg your pardon?”

“Spock…” Amanda’s features softened into a hint of worry, and she closed her eyes while shaking her head. Her hands raised and she pushed the lace covering off her hair, letting it drop over her back. “Your father speaks as though this was already written in stone, but it isn’t. You have the choice to agree or disagree at this point in time.”

An eyebrow crept up at that.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “Right now, you could put an end to this without any consequence. But once the ceremony is arranged, there can be no going back. The clan he spoke of carries much power, but nothing is guaranteed and there would be no harm done at this stage if you declined.”

“I believe you wish to offer insight as to what my decision should be,” Spock observed. “Your point of view would be welcomed, as it always is.”

“I’ll speak candidly. I’m not entirely thrilled with this matchmaking process.” Amanda raised her hand to stop Spock’s inevitable dispute. “I know, I know. It’s a part of Vulcan culture and I’m thinking like an _illogical human_. But humor me, even if it’s only for a moment.”

She shifted on the bench, leaning forward and placing her elbows on the table. “Spock, what I share with your father is a beautiful thing. It was a bond created of its own will—not forced, not suggested. I fell in love with him freely, not because I was pushed to do so.” Her voice softened. “I want that for you, my son. But more than anything, I want you to live a healthy life and be prepared for the future.”

Spock remained silent.

“I hoped that you would find a suitable mate on your own, as your father found me. But it’s been nearly three years since the incident, Spock. And though bonding with T’Pak is ultimately your choice, I have to confess that I feel obligated to advise you to go through with it.”

“On what do you base this suggestion?”

Amanda sighed, and her blue eyes wandered up as she searched for the right words. “It’s just that I worry.” She looked at him once more. “I worry about having another T’Pring on our hands.”

The sound of that name made Spock inwardly shudder. However, he remained unreadable as ever as he replied, “I do not understand.”

“If you have no prospective mate as of now, Spock, please go along with your father’s suggestion. I can’t bear the thought of you counting on T’Pak bonding with you in the future, only for her to run off as T’Pring did. Or even worse, you trying to find someone and not being able to.” Amanda’s eyes fell. “We’re so fortunate we didn’t lose you the first time. I’m thankful every day that your captain was there to protect you.”

The mention of Jim prompted a breathless moment on Spock’s side of subspace. Silence prevailed for some time.

“Mother,” Spock suddenly spoke. “…May I ask a personal inquiry?”

“Anything at all.”

“Do you harbor any regret?”

Amanda’s brows knitted down in consternation. “Regret? Why?”

“When you reached your decision to bond with Sarek, it became necessary to abandon the life you built on Earth. You forfeited a successful career to follow his. Surely, there was much you planned to do before you became acquainted with him.”

“Life is filled with turning points, Spock. What you might wish for today can change in the blink of an eye.” Amanda exhaled and leaned her head back, calmness washing across her face.

“Are there things I wish I could have continued doing with my work? Maybe a little, yes. But do I _regret_ not doing them? Not so much. You see…” A gentle smile pulled at her lips. “I found it was worth giving up my career for what I gained in return. You. A life with your father, of course. That’s a good bargain if you ask me,” she added with a chuckle.

“What if it was not?” Spock inquired, unmoved when Amanda’s expression morphed into concern. “What if Sarek had not been a suitable match for you?”

“But he is—”

“Theoretically, Mother.”

“I…” Amanda began. “I imagine things would be very hard, then.”

“And if that were true, then the quality of your life would be far from where it currently is.” Spock turned his attention downward for a beat. “You would have regretted your decision to bond with him and it would have been an irreversible error, following you for the rest of your years.”

“Well, I can tell you _why_ it isn’t that way,” Amanda insisted. “I wasn’t the only one making sacrifices. Your father had much to give up and grow accustomed to, just as I did. He’d already matured and found his place in the universe, was ready to commit again after the passing of his first wife. On top of that, we communicate. There’s nothing we hold back from each other.”

She took a thoughtful pause. “You can imagine, right? It’s to be expected when two people who are so different come together, but the key point is that it’s always an equal endeavor. I’ve never felt unhappy or unfulfilled, because this is the life I chose for myself. It’s the one I _desire_ to lead. Now, perhaps if I’d been married to my career or if your father hadn’t known what he wanted, then things might’ve been different.”

Her eyes squinted. “Spock, where are you going with this?”

Spock sat completely still in his chair. His gaze was deep and dark, and when Amanda’s lips parted to speak, he simply shook his head and covered all evidence of his trail. “Mother. Though I realize it is out of my protection for which you speak, I have a request. For every reason you just supplied, I ask you to not begrudge T’Pring.”

She slouched slightly at that remark, lifted her hand, and rubbed at the side of her neck.

“I wish to extend my appreciation for your advice,” Spock said. “It was…most enlightening.”

Amanda nodded gently a few times. “We only want the best for you, Spock. Both of us.”

“It is mutual, Mother. I shall contact you as soon as the schedule has been decided. Until then, mind your health.”

“Until then, Spock. Safe journeys. Take care of yourself.”

Each raised one hand in the ta’al and soon after, the connection was severed.

 

Amanda had jovially called it a _good bargain_ , but her message was clear: the universe was replete with change and give and take. For her, having a spouse who complemented her so well and later, the son they created together constituted a fair tradeoff. While family was most important of all, Spock was aware there were other contributing factors which affected the level of satisfaction Amanda had with her life. They were the same which influenced the decisions she made when choosing which path to walk.

She hadn’t just settled. Amanda’s work as a schoolteacher had been traded for something much greater than to simply become _the wife of the Ambassador_. When she abandoned her earthbound life and took to the stars with Sarek, Amanda had still been able to continue quenching her passions for learning and sharing knowledge. And what better place could sate such hunger than the rhinestone cosmos itself, especially when the gifts of travel and adventure were offered freely to her?

It was infinitely more compelling for an explorer to sail the celestial seas, to see new places and meet new people, than to stay glued to the soil of the world she’d been born and raised on. In the end, the greatest difference between what was left behind and where Amanda established herself thereafter came down to the size of the playing field; her venue of curiosity had augmented from the humble limits of Earth’s horizon to literal galactic proportions.

Even while remaining planet-side on Vulcan when there’d been lulls in traveling, Amanda had thrived. She landed a flexible contract with an esteemed local academy in Shi’Kahr to teach classes on Terran culture, history, and literature. She kept gardens, explored her inner self through painting and sculpting, became a master at traditional Golic calligraphy, and the praises to her name just continued on and on.

Perhaps the most important factor of all though was that while Amanda stood beside Sarek, she also stood apart from him. She both challenged and _was_ challenged by him to do more, to do better, to grow and learn and thrive. She hadn’t needed him to grant her a sense of identity or purpose, and had never been introduced as his accessory.

It wasn’t to say Amanda hadn’t ever suffered; of course, there were hardships and difficulties that she had to weather. But when she looked in the mirror, Spock knew Amanda could still recognize the same schoolteacher she’d seen in her reflection decades ago…albeit with more lines creasing her soft face.

Laugh lines. Lines which told her story, of her triumphs and happiness.

Spock’s head turned to the side and his eyelashes slowly parted. He absently stared toward his pillow, uncaring that his cheek was still against Jim’s shirt and unwilling to remove himself from it so soon.

_Laugh lines_. If those were things he believed himself capable of providing by the time Jim reached his mother’s age, then Spock would have had it all. But unlike Amanda who could fly even higher by being bonded to Sarek, who could and did dare to dream bigger, Jim would never know the same.

Amanda took Sarek’s arm and together, they stepped forward. But if Jim were to do that with Spock's, he would remain in the same place at best—and be forced backward at worst, by nothing other than the dead weight pull of Spock’s hand.

Unlike what his parents offered each other, Spock couldn’t give Jim anything to better himself with. He’d never outrank him, never give him a larger place to survey than the galaxy itself. He’d never provide a nurturing atmosphere where they both could grow as individuals and a single unit. Instead, it was Jim who gave Spock every one of those precious things and more.

Spock was clumsy, inexperienced relationship-wise, awkward, unaccepted, and emotionally repressed. And to add insult to injury, all he could do to reciprocate Jim’s gifts would be cementing an unseverable link in his mind and begging for relief when the ancient drives shouted his name.

They could never be equals in a relationship. But even despite recognizing that, Spock still wanted and he still _loved_. And he loved _enough_ to stop this great injustice from shackling itself to Jim’s ankles for an eternity of mediocrity, of solitude, of unrequited openly displayed affection, of—

The chime rang out from the side door.

His palms slapped the edge of the bed and Spock launched his torso backward. Petrified, he sat back on his feet as if he’d been seen in this awful state and as fast as a whip crack, his hand shot to Jim’s shirt. He seized it and snapped his attention right and then left when the chime went off again. With haste, he stuffed the garment beneath the mattress and got to his feet without a second more to spare.

The lock was overridden and the entrance slid open to reveal a man Spock couldn’t identify: frantic, unnerved, animated by the disturbance written clear across his features. His boots forcefully stomped against the floor with obvious intention to walk to the work area, but when Jim turned his face and saw Spock in the sleeping alcove instead, his course immediately changed.

Jim's mouth was pretty. It was a ridiculous observation to make at this moment, but Jim’s lips were full and shapely and beautiful to look at. They were one of the first attributes that had ignited Spock’s attraction from the very beginning. But now, they were open and half-gaped to match the horror present in those hazel eyes, in the inflexibility in his limbs.

Spock couldn’t recall ever seeing Jim’s mouth in such a state, and the contrast was all he could focus on.

It remained that way, even as Jim’s hands lifted into the air. His fast stride dissolved into an almost robotic stagger as his fingers separated and he reached out. They fell on Spock’s biceps and squeezed as Jim shook his head, at a loss for words.

Suddenly, they were found and he stammered, “You…moved all your things.”

Spock swallowed and looked down toward the bed. What could he say to that, when the flood of Jim’s emotions entered his awareness through the places they touched—when every single one of them was overwhelming to his already weakened shields?

He knew he had to say _something_. And as Spock fumbled for the right words, he was caught completely off guard when Jim released him with a burst of energy that nearly caused him to lose his balance.

“Jim,” Spock tried at last, observing his captain immediately turning on his heels. He assumed Jim would return to his own quarters, so when the closet door opened instead, Spock’s eyes widened. Without even pausing to look around, Jim reached inside and began yanking out the robes that had just been hung.

“…Jim.”

Jim ignored him, piling robe after heavy robe over one arm. When he reached in for another, Spock was upon him, grabbing his wrist and leading it away from the closet. “ _Jim_.” He shook his head. “No.”

Whirling on his feet, Jim tossed the garments on the bed, but in his excited state he missed; they hit the opposite edge and avalanched over the side. He lifted the arm Spock still held up aggressively, his fingers clenched into a fist as he attempted to control all the feelings Spock could detect regardless of his efforts.

“No what?! I was supposed to come back to _talk_ , Spock. Not show up and find out you so conveniently moved your entire life out of mine.” A volatile mixture of sarcasm, anger, and despair fractured Jim’s perpetual smooth tone. “But that’s fine. That’s completely fine. I’ll put everything back the way it was and we can talk and start over and forget _any_ of this even happened.”

“That is not—” Spock’s eyes closed. He shook his head and released Jim’s wrist; the transference was too great to handle. “It is not possible.”

“Why.” It was a demand, not a question. “ _Why_.”

“Jim,” Spock said quietly. “Please calm yourself. I do not wish to make this more difficult.”

“Oh, so you’re saying that it’s difficult now? It’s difficult! I knew it! You—” There was an abrupt stop. Spock had never _ever_ before seen Jim reduced to grasping for anything like this, had never heard his words spill out more carelessly than an inebriate tipping over a bottle of whiskey. “It’s _not_ difficult at all actually. It’s downright idiotic!” What was anger dissolved into pure desperation, and Jim rasped out, “ _Why_ , Spock?”

“You will not believe me.”

“ _Try me_.”

“It is for your own good.”

“ _My_ good?!” Jim stammered, his hand smacking over his heart.

Shaking his head, Spock closed his eyes for a beat.

“I fall in love with you, we’re together three years, and you just up and leave without any reason, and suddenly this is all for _my_ good?! Do you even hear yourself?!”

Spock exhaled loudly and brought a hand to his face, the rest of Jim’s words fading into the background. He couldn’t handle this now. Perhaps, he would never be able to. But it was especially unthinkable _now_ , when his controls were so raw and his mind so badly in need of meditation to heal the chaos it had been plunged into.

He needed to make peace with Jim, to offer an acceptable explanation; Spock owed him that much. But it couldn’t be now, not when they were both so exposed with figurative wounds untended to and bleeding out. Words would be meaningless; they would each say things they didn’t mean and exacerbate the situation beyond repair.

Worse yet, Spock’s inexperience utterly crippled him. He’d seen humans infuriated, sad, wounded, miserable, betrayed before. But never had he seen one experience them because of his own doing—and that it should be Jim…

And as for Jim, he was _still_ talking, still going on about why this was wrong—growing louder and louder and more frustrated when all he received in return was silence. He was wringing his hands, clenching them, and then wringing them again. Spock heard him, and yet he wasn’t truly understanding anything that was said. The only thing filling his thoughts was how badly he wanted and needed Jim to stop, if only for a moment...because every passing second was becoming more and more tumultuous, less controlled, less manageable.

For the first time in his life, Spock felt his throat close up. The space became too small suddenly and he tried so hard to keep himself calm, to remind himself he was in his quarters, that he would just ask Jim to leave, that—

“ _Spock_!” Jim finally grabbed his shoulders tightly and shook him once more. And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Do not _touch_ me!” Spock flung his fists out to the side to free himself from Jim’s grasp—an unnecessary endeavor, because those words alone were enough to make Jim’s hands fall.

The hurt in those hazel eyes was so visible that Spock believed he felt the stab of it himself. He stared in disbelief at his own outburst as Jim’s attention plummeted to the floor, clearly aware of the effect his outward desperation had had on Spock. His palm cupped over his lips when his jaw began to tremble.

This was why it could never work. Anyone else in the universe would have been able to handle this situation—to allow Jim to spill his feelings and then pacify him. He had every right to react this way, after all. Surely, _Sarek_ had never done this to Amanda.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said softly into his hand, wide-eyed and still staring downward. “I’m sorry.”

“Please,” Spock whispered and swallowed hard. “Please sit down.”

Jim slowly lowered to the edge of the mattress near the footboard. His fingers dragged over his mouth and chin, and then fell further to brace himself on his knees. His shoulders raised and lowered with the rhythm of his heavy breathing and he finally closed his eyes. “…I’m so sorry.”

“Do not be.” Spock’s voice ghosted above a mutter as he lowered to sit by the pillow. “It is I who must apologize.”

“Spock.” His name was uttered gently, just like the times they’d lain naked and entangled in a sea of soft blankets—when Spock was enveloped in human arms and human emotions, when affection was tangible to every one of his senses. Jim’s lashes parted, but he refused to turn his face; his gaze locked to one of the lower drawers near his boots. It seemed as though he wanted to say something more, but all he did was release his kneecaps and hold his head in his hands. Finally, he asked, “…Is this really happening?”

Spock’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“Please wake me up,” Jim said to himself.

They raised back to Jim.

“Jim.” Spock paused. “I cannot begin to explain how…deeply sorry I am.”

Without ever returning his attention to Spock, Jim’s face lifted and he sat back. “I get no say in this?” Whatever tenderness that had been in his voice was gone, but no anger was present either; he spoke in the same clinical tone he used on the bridge. “After everything we’ve been through, you don’t even ask or care about what I want?” Then, their eyes met.

Spock stared into them, seeing betrayal and pain and heartache. Silence remained for too long until at last, Spock broke it. “You will not want this.”

“The bonding ritual? Pon Farr? The irreversible, _no going back_ part of it? I know more about these things than you think.”

“You will never know enough about them.” Spock’s fingers laced together and he peered down at them. “No human could.”

“Your mother is human.”

“My mother is in an entirely different situation.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head and then asked over a breath, “ _How_?”

Spock didn’t know how he managed to say what he ended up saying. But somehow, those words were chosen. And the very moment they left him was the same one when he knew things would never be the same again—not on the Enterprise, and not for him. With them, he sealed his own fate.

“My father was _willing_ to bond with her.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>   
>   
>  Thank you to [Pywren](http://pywren.tumblr.com/post/138617907742/time-stopped-neither-moved-neither-spoke-it), for this gifset!! <333
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers: [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979), [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoublePlusAwesome/pseuds/vgersix)  
> \- nim-lock for the utterly stunning art!! If you're interesting in seeing more beautiful work, please click [here](http://nim-lock.tumblr.com/art) and send love. <3  
> \- sleepymccoy for the utterly stunning art!! If you're interesting in seeing more beautiful work, please click [here](http://sleepymccoy.tumblr.com/search/shannon+rose) and send love. <3  
> \- Pywren for the gifset! Check out their awesome Trek blog [here](http://pywren.tumblr.com). <3  
> \- You, for reading!! <3
> 
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> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for your patience and support these last few weeks!! <333 This chapter is very long and I didn't feel comfortable asking anyone to look it over, so it's self-betaed.

**.* Chapter 9 *.**

Anyone who ever dared to claim synthesized peaches were delectable had never experienced the pleasures of a little southern hospitality.

That was McCoy’s profound breakfast musing while he poked at the so-called fruit on his plate. He ignored the typical pre-alpha shift bustle of the mess hall, and remained quite contentedly lost in his own little world of memories roused by the synthesized sustenance before him.

He imagined himself back home in Georgia, where the sun’s embrace was warm and giant fluffy clouds floated across an endless cerulean sky.

Despite having a picture-perfect landscape to indulge in, there was one thing in particular on his mind: a certain tree. It stood to the immediate right of his family’s large white house and just outside McCoy’s old bedroom. The tree’s dark curvy branches had been interesting to observe at all times of the year, but especially in the spring, when flat oblong leaves decorated once bare boughs in healthy shades of green.

The initial appearance of those leaves kindled a rush of excitement which had been long dormant since winter, because they signified what would be soon to come. Every day thereafter was filled with anticipation to look out at the tree and discover if the time when the flowers would bloom had at last arrived.

McCoy remembered one year in particular, when his little heart started pounding at the first glimpse of color his eyes caught. Merely seeing them wasn’t enough, though. He was too tiny to reach the window latches on his own, so he’d taken hold of the white desk chair and begun to slide it over to climb up on. The loud scraping of wooden legs against the floorboards invited suspicion and like clockwork, his father had appeared in the doorway.

“Now hold on just a minute, son,” dad had said as he moved the chair away from the window. He unlatched the locks, curled his fingers beneath the bottom ledge, and pushed up on the white frame. A gentle spring breeze pushed the sheer teal curtains back and carried the sweet scent of peach blossoms inside. McCoy was lifted into his father’s arms to better take in the view.

“Lenny, that there is a _McCoy-grown_ peach tree and you ain’t ever gonna eat a finer peach anywhere.”

“In the whole, wide _universe_ , Pa?!” To think the tree outside his room with its big pink flowers was the most special one of all! (And now, to think his father hadn’t even exaggerated; that tree really did make the damn finest, most succulent fruit.)

“Mmhm. And that ain’t the only _best ever_ thing we got in the yard. Wait ‘til you get a little older and I show you how to use that mint mama grows in her garden.”

The peaches grew large and close enough to the house so that when he became a bit taller, McCoy could reach out from the massive wrap-around porch and pick one from the nearest branch. He could perfectly recall driving his thumbs into the top and splitting the fruit down the middle, could just taste that sweetness on his tongue and feel the lazy wind blow while he rocked on the two-seater swing with his bare feet kicked up in the air.

Here on the Enterprise, whatever it was on his plate now sure as hell wasn’t a _McCoy-grown_ peach. But soon enough, synthesized space food would be a thing of the past. With that thought, McCoy brought one of the slices to his mouth and chewed.

Yes, soon enough, he’d be out of the stars entirely. Just like his favorite tree, his life had periods of great change. He’d spent years amid the darkness of a vacuum, living under artificial lighting and not to mention unthinkable stress. And now, he felt it was time to get a good dose of green back in his routine…. _real_ green, the kind that grew in the dirt and went on for as far as he could see.

McCoy knew just the place to satisfy his hankering.

In a few months, his feet would touch down on familiar soil and he’d be back in that old family house with a closet filled by anything but Starfleet uniforms. He’d be sitting on his old swing, kicking his feet in the air, eating his homegrown fruit without a care in the world…looking up at the sky, wondering what kind of trouble Jim, Spock, and the others were getting into…

Though retirement from Starfleet was calling McCoy’s name like spring summoned the new blooms, he knew it wouldn’t be easy to leave the Enterprise team or watch them embark on the next journey without him.

It was curious. He’d served on other ships before—one other Constitution class and a few vessels much smaller—and while he’d cared much for his past crewmates, wishing them well was always a customary, predictable step of moving on. A Starfleet career was understandably touch and go with many hellos and goodbyes, after all. McCoy had made friends in his travels and kept in contact with a few, but leaving them behind was just a part of life he’d always accepted.

That all changed with this posting. For the first time, McCoy had become attached. _Really_ attached. In fact, he was so attached that part of him dreaded continuing on without the people he’d spent all these years with.

It was to be expected, though. The Enterprise was no ordinary, run of the mill ship and her crew no ordinary, faceless lot. Jim made it clear from the beginning that everyone aboard her had a purpose and something special to offer, and for that reason alone, he would learn all of their names. He eventually made good on that promise.

But it was in that moment, when Jim first spoke eye-to-eye with the crew, that McCoy realized this team would be the exception. They’d be as efficient as a well-oiled machine, destined to achieve greatness together; anybody could have anticipated that with seeing what kind of leader Jim was. However, something completely unpredicted also occurred over the course of these last four years. McCoy had gained more than just extra work experience and additional gray hair…he now had a very large adoptive family.

He’d never felt so close to another crew before. Without question, coming to the decision to walk away from them wasn’t easy and it would be even harder to go their separate ways when the time eventually came.

Raising the back of his hand to his face, McCoy swiped at his nose. He could always reconsider. Most of all, he’d miss that stubborn brash farm boy-turned-captain and the green-blooded walking computer who was never more than two steps behind. But it was his confidence that they’d watch over each other after this mission’s completion which gave McCoy peace of mind with his decision.

Jim and Spock would take care of each other. They didn’t need him in the middle to do that.

The peach tree in McCoy’s yard couldn’t combat the changing of seasons or passage of time. Even if it could resist the spring, no leaves would grow and no fruit would be produced. The tree would become useless, an eyesore. And after some time of complacent purposeless, it would be regarded as dysfunctional and removed, or tire of its monotony and embrace change on its own.

McCoy refused either outcome for himself. Despite the difficulty parting from those he cared about, he would leave one family to regroup with his other.

Joanna was eighteen and all grown up now, able to make her own decisions and pursue whatever kind of life she wanted. Still, she’d recently sent word that she was shipping off soon to the academy to practice medicine, just like her dear ol’ dad. And now that the custody restrictions expired, McCoy intended to be there for her this time around.

Chip off the old block, that girl. He couldn’t resist the soft smile that crossed his features at the thought of her following in his footsteps, despite the strained relationship imposed by his ex-wife. Joanna and he were always close, and she’d been smart enough to recognize the move her mother tried making to disrupt that when the marriage ended. However, the frequent messages exchanged thereafter were enough to preserve their relationship, and in a few years from now, there’d be two Doctor McCoys running the show. Could the universe ever _really_ be ready for that?

With a chuckle, McCoy reached for his coffee and looked up as he sipped, just in time to find something awfully strange headed in his direction. The sight was enough to make him keep the cup pressed to his lips for a few lingering seconds, even after swallowing.

It was Jim, but it didn’t _look_ like Jim. The dark circles beneath his eyes and lack of that ever-present spark were the most striking indicators, but there was something more—something McCoy couldn’t rightly put his finger on. He knew exactly how to break the ice, though.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m being approached by the county hangman?”

Jim placed his tray down with a pointed tap and then slumped in his chair. Without making eye contact, he picked up his fork. “Good morning to you too, Bones.”

“Did you sleep at _all_ last night?”

“Sure, why,” said Jim dismissively while tearing open a packet of shredded nori and dashing it over his rice.

“Well, for starters, you look like hell,” McCoy offered.

Jim’s lips pulled in and he raised his eyebrows while he cocked his head. The “ _thanks_ ” was in that motion, even if it hadn’t been spoken.

McCoy watched silently as Jim pushed the food on his plate around before setting the utensil back down. Next, he reached for his cup and moved his hand in a circular motion to stir his coffee—which was definitely black and not in need of it. Jim replaced the mug without taking a drink, picked up the fork again, whisked his small side bowl of soup, and returned it to the plate.

McCoy squinted. “Are you ever gonna actually eat that? Or are you planning to just push it around?”

“It’s hot,” Jim replied plainly, and his eyes slowly wandered up to find McCoy’s lifting over his shoulder.

“Well, Prince Charming, you’re in luck. Sleeping beauty finally woke up.” Wordlessly, Spock slipped into his seat beside Jim. “Mornin’, Spock.”

“Good morning, Doctor,” Spock replied, without ever looking at him. “Captain.”

“Good morning,” Jim said dryly and returned his attention to the tray.

Silence fell on the group as Spock set to immediately putting the spoon in his bowl of soup and stirring—and then stirring more. His concentration on the movement of his plomeek concoction was as though he were working on one of his newfangled experiments in the lab, and not just whisking broth around. Though his features were Vulcan as ever, it almost appeared like Spock didn’t _want_ to look up.

McCoy had nothing to base that opinion on, except for a certain feeling. Something just _felt_ off, different. There were waves of awkwardness radiating from that side of the table, but no tangible evidence to prove it. He decided to quietly hang back and observe.

And then it happened. Jim and Spock simultaneously reached for the salt shaker. McCoy’s brow shot up when Spock’s hand barely tapped Jim’s and retracted so quickly that it was like his flesh had been scorched by the contact. Jim was completely unaffected by the overreaction; he simply picked up the container, shook it over his virtually untouched plate, and then placed it near Spock’s tray. At last, he stiffly forced a forkful into his mouth and chewed.

“All right,” McCoy said, leaning back in his chair. Both pairs of eyes rose to him. “Is someone gonna tell me what’s up?”

“Komack,” Jim answered, almost too quickly. He picked up his coffee, took a sip, and glanced back to his meal.

“Komack?”

“Yeah. It was a rough night.” There was a pause before Jim added, “Mission changes, and all that.” He inhaled through his teeth, held his breath, and then released it while slowly nodding his head. “Everything in the plan for the foreseeable future has been…” His lips stopped moving, like he was searching for the right word. “…obliterated.”

McCoy folded his arms as his brows knitted downward, scrutinizing this entire situation. Spock was Spock; he was detached and offbeat most of the time. But as for Jim…the vibrant emotion had completely bled out from his character and tone. The person sitting before McCoy now was nothing like the one who’d been in his office just two days ago, smiling widely and so filled with passion that it was infectious.

“But not shore leave,” Jim continued, as he aimlessly moved his fork around again. His voice was low and serious, almost like he were talking to himself. “Shore leave is still on.”

At last, he lifted the utensil again; when it was halfway between the dish and his mouth, he looked at McCoy and finally found the mildly threatening expression being aimed at him. “What?”

“You got no sleep, Jim. I can see it.”

It was clear that the remark annoyed him, as Jim’s face darkened. Even so, his reply was delivered in the same cool, apathetic tone. “I’m fine.”

McCoy watched Jim thrust the morsel of steamed rice between his lips, observing the manner in which he quickly chewed and swallowed—like he didn’t even want to taste it.

While irritability and bags under those pretty hazel eyes were moderately alarming, they weren’t so worrisome when McCoy considered lack of rest likely being the cause. No one would begrudge a starship captain for a night or two of restless sleep when the weight of their responsibilities was so crushing.

However, _Jim_ not eating breakfast for two days in a row was the telltale sign that there was something much more amiss than tossing and turning. Meal selection and portioning had long been a sore point between both men. The facts at hand were that no matter how much stress he was under, Jim loved food and McCoy loved the captain’s weight and cholesterol levels at optimal readings.

But seeing Jim now was so strikingly different than any other time in the long personal and professional friendship they shared. He wasn’t in the mood for eating or conversation, wasn’t making eye contact—hell, he wasn’t even acknowledging _Spock_. And that all became terribly vexing for a Chief Medical Officer who held the duty of assessing the mental health of every commanding officer.

“Listen, Jim,” McCoy offered, flicking his gaze to the side and then back. He talked loudly enough for only the two sitting across from him to hear and no one else; the last thing he wanted was for any of the lower ranks to interpret his words as publicly questioning Jim’s health or ability to command. “Maybe you should get some rest, even if it’s only for alpha shift. I’m sure Spock could—”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Jim interjected, dropping his fork beside his plate. The sound of the chair skidding backward made McCoy’s eyes widen as the captain abruptly stood. “I have a lot to get done today, but I appreciate your concern,” he announced in an elevated tone and picked up his tray. “See you later.” Jim addressed Spock with the curt speaking of his name and turned on the soles of his boots to take his leave.

Without ever looking up from his soup, Spock replied in the same tone. “Captain.”

McCoy stared after him, his eyes narrowed by the habitual squint when something troubled or perplexed him. He turned his attention to Spock. With his voice kept low, he demanded, “What the hell is going on?”

Spock neatly placed his spoon down, leaned back in his chair, and then met McCoy’s gaze. “It appears the captain has not slept,” he supplied, an air of extra formality present in his tone.

“Oh really? I didn’t notice.”

The sarcastic reply caused Spock’s brows to raise before he glanced to his tea and brought it to his lips. Interestingly, the cup he’d chosen to accompany his breakfast this morning was of mess hall issue and not the unique one that he’d been using for the last several weeks. If it were any other time, McCoy might have asked about it, but there were more important things at hand to question now.

McCoy pressed his palms to the table and leaned in. He glanced around to make sure no prying individuals were focused on him before murmuring, “Spock, I’ve seen Jim under massive amounts of stress before and still put together better than he just was here. Do you _really_ think this is all Komack’s doing? Because I’m not sure I buy that.”

Spock’s shoulders rose as he drew in a breath. He began stirring his soup once more. “I cannot comment, Doctor, as I have no expertise in reading human emotion.”

McCoy’s chin inclined and an intense scowl transformed his expression to pure annoyance. “Oh, for the love of—!” Standing just as precipitously as Jim had, he got to his feet. “Never mind, you green-blooded Vulcan!” He lifted his tray and then snapped, “As for you, you’re scheduled to be in sickbay for a follow-up visit at 1300 hours sharp.”

“I am aware,” Spock replied, never looking up from his meal.

And just because McCoy knew it would inwardly agitate Spock, he said, “Don’t be late,” as he walked off.

 

 

 

The memory quickly evolved into an infinite loop—one suffocating echo that reverberated over and over, and hurt worse with every iteration.

_The shock Jim initially felt had turned to desperation and desperation to disbelief. Spock sat there, appearing unaffected with his stoicism and concise responses, while everything Jim knew and loved disintegrated before him.  
_

_He’d been backed into a corner, blindsided, betrayed, gutted. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t stop the influx of panic mounting within him. All Jim needed was one look from those eyes he loved—one tiny_ inkling _to tell him there was still hope and that Spock still cared about what he was enduring. However, while his whole universe burned to ashes, Spock remained utterly impervious._

_Never before had Jim felt so completely insignificant; he was unaccustomed to the bitter sting of helplessness with no means of escape. As his throat tightened and he felt more and more trapped, his silent suffocation ignited a trail of kerosene that burned through every layer of the control keeping him in one piece._

_He would have never hurt Spock like Spock had hurt him, would have never let Spock just ramble on and on, grasping for straws and trying to find anything to ground himself to. But as the tables had turned in the current situation, Spock seemed content to just sit there in silence while Jim rapidly came undone before him._

_Feelings could be bottled up only so far without resolve. And when Spock’s eyes moved away from Jim’s as he was mid-sentence of once more declaring how he couldn’t believe this was happening, the flame reached the end of its trail._

_Jim’s nostrils dilated, his eyes widened, his breathing hitched, and a Molotov cocktail of emotion detonated._

“ _Have you lost your_ mind _?!”_

_“Anything I say will only incite your current state. I believe we should further this conversation at a later time.”_

_“Oh, wow! Once again, you don’t even care how I’m affected, can’t be bothered to deal with my_ filthy _human emotions. Of course not. It doesn’t even faze you.”_

_“You are mistaken. I have considered the possible outcomes, and this is the safest conclusion I have drawn for each of us. Jim, it is—”_

_“Don’t even say it! This has_ nothing _to do with logic!”_

_"It has everything to do with logic. I do not expect you to understand. However, I—”_

_"You don’t expect me to understand what? The fact that you don’t care about how I feel because you claim you don’t have emotions, or whatever the hell you’re using to justify it? The fact that you’d choose someone you never met over me the instant they came into the picture?”_

_"…”_

_Well?!”_

_“…”_

_"You’re right. I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all, how all you can do is sit there and quote logic at me like you’re some kind of machine. That’s what you always strove for though, isn’t it? Having the size of your brain become so much larger than your heart could ever hope to be.”_

_"Captain—”_

_"I thought…heh. You know, you’re awfully good at this. Possibly the best I’ve ever encountered. You had me convinced that you loved me. And you don’t. You just don’t.”_

_“…”_

_“What even was this? You, just waiting for someone to come along and tell you only what you wanted to hear, that you’re so Vulcan and above it all? Tell me, Spock. Go ahead. Are you so_ perfectly _Vulcan now that you’re incapable of love?”_

_“…You simply do not understand.”_

_"You keep saying that. Over and over and over, how I can’t and don’t understand your damned logic. But let me tell you something, Spock. You’re the one who doesn’t get it. Logic can be used to justify anything and that’s why you need more than a flowchart to decide between right and wrong. Without a heart to match your head, you’re nothing more than a computer.”_

_“…”_

_“Is that all you really are? Really?!”_

_"Jim—”_

_“Is it?!”_

_“If that is your judgement, then I accept it.”_

_“The hell with you.”_

That had been the last thing Jim said before he strode out of Spock’s quarters. However, after his anger quickly died off and he began to process just what that final line meant, his mind began to fill in what was left blank.

The hell with you, _because you’re different_. The hell with you, _because you won’t do exactly what I want you to do_. The hell with you, _because you’re making your own choice and I’m not part of it_. The hell with you, _because you value your Vulcan side_. The hell with you, _because you don’t know how to handle the emotions you’ve worked to repress your whole life_. The hell with you, _because I’m no different than anyone else who’s ever made you believe you’re inadequate_.

These echoes of what had transpired the night before were haunting, but they were greater than just words and much more than only unpleasant memories. They were double edged weapons.

And worst of all, they were sharp.

 

 

An invisible wound bled invisible rivers, and no one else would ever know of its existence as long as the mouth that could tell the story remained sewn shut.

Exposure to a certain kind of pain was the perfect catalyst to make someone find comfort in the most remote place; for Jim, that sliver of peace was in the appreciation of all miracles, no matter how small. He’d first learned this when he was young and starving alone on a colony; since then, gratitude for the tiniest strokes of luck had kept him together more times than he could count. In fact, it was keeping him together now.

“Bridge.”

Indeed, it was by some miracle that the lift had been unoccupied when he’d entered it. Once the doors shut and granted him a few seconds to be alone on the short ride up, Jim’s hand gripped the lever a little tighter and he leaned back against the wall. His eyes closed and with a massive inhale, his shoulders lifted and chest expanded.

When his eyes opened, he would be Captain Kirk. The unbreakable, unflappable, always-in-command Captain Kirk, who never hurt or cracked or bled or cried, who never acted out of malice or intentionally caused another pain, who could never afford to be anything but perfect in the eyes of his crew.

He’d made his first mistake with McCoy over breakfast, and couldn’t afford to repeat it.

Jim pulled hard on the handle and heard his voice take on a rough tone when he said, “Computer, pause.” His fingers clenched and his mouth twitched as the lift stopped its ascent, leaving him to stand alone in silence with his eyes shut. After drawing another deep breath, he held it. 

An unbreakable, unflappable starship captain. The crew came first, then the ship. Or sometimes, it was the ship before the crew, depending on the situation. However, whatever the order, layer after layer of priorities fell before a commanding officer’s personal business and it was imperative to maintain that practice.

Captain Kirk respected this discipline above all others, had made it the very foundation of his career. He always had and always would put the safety and comfort of any one of his crewmembers before his own. Likewise, the security of the ship, the Prime Directive, and adherence to orders handed down from the top would also be infinitely more important than his own needs…or grief, for that matter.

While it was true that he felt wounded beyond repair, taking himself off duty because he’d been emotionally turbulent due to heartache and a breakup with his _first officer_ , of all things, was something Jim could absolutely not accept. It went against every belief and philosophy he had as a leader, contradicted all of the vows taken to keep his priorities in order. It would have violated the mutual promise he and Spock had made long ago, that their personal lives would never interfere with their responsibilities to the ship.

These were the commitments that safeguarded all of which Jim held so precious, and his diligence to protect them was why (much to his dismay) he’d become the official Starfleet poster boy.

Jim was as much of a living, breathing individual as anyone around him, after all. The difference was only that he lived in the shadow of his own legend, one created by others witnessing his values, talents, and passion. It was true; he’d been born for this command, born to work so hard to step up and own it. And he would _be_ the captain of the Enterprise for as long as his heart beat, or as long as Starfleet allowed it.

But if only for these few seconds, he let himself be Jim Kirk—the actual person, not the title or legend or what anyone else thought they knew of him. He let himself feel the sting of his shame, the pain of his intangible wounds, the misery of his loss, the guilt of his actions, and the heaviness of a sleepless night, all crushing against him.

For these few seconds, Jim was just as fragile as any other human; he could crack, fracture, and shatter into a trillion tiny pieces. But what separated him from the others was the privilege of taking that oath to lead this ship, to live in that shadow of his reputation which inspired others to reach for the stars.

So, his mouth opened and he slowly pushed out all the air he’d held in his lungs. He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, swallowed his personal despair, and made himself indestructible once more.

And when Captain Kirk’s eyes opened, he was. “Resume.”

The chime sounded off and the doors split. The bridge beckoned, and Jim answered the call with one boot confidently falling before the other as he announced, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Captain!” replied the ensemble of swing shift members. Lieutenant Kumari rose from the center seat.

“Good morning, Captain,” she bade with a nod. “Nothing to report.”

“Perfect job as always, Lieutenant. You’re relieved.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Jim lowered himself into his chair, placed his PADD in his lap, and gripped the ends of the armrests. His eyes followed down the length of one arm and then up the other. He leaned back with his head held high, peered at the viewscreen, and then picked up his tablet.

A man in a red skant appeared at his side. “Captain, the pre-Alpha shift log has been filled out.”

“Thank you, Yeoman,” Jim replied, his lips easing into a grin. “You’re relieved. Go get some rest.”

“Sir.” The man returned the smile with a nod, and then took his leave.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Jim rolled his shoulders and then brought up the official mission details for Gantir. He scanned through them once more as the alpha shift crew began reporting to their stations; each greeted him and he returned the regard with full enthusiasm. When Spock appeared in his peripheral vision, Jim willed his eyes—and his thoughts—to not wander.

However, once another blue tunic showed up directly next to him, he lifted his chin.

“Captain, can I have a word with you?” McCoy asked with his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Jim lowered the PADD into his lap. “Certainly.”

“In private.”

A few wordless seconds followed and when one of McCoy’s brows lifted, Jim nodded. “Very well.” He stood. “Mister Spock, you have the conn.”

Holding his arm out for McCoy to lead the way, Jim followed him into the lift. In total silence, they descended for just one level. The doors opened and McCoy walked into the nearest conference room. “Computer, privacy lock,” he commanded while his hand swept down to the small black kit affixed to his belt.

“All right, Bones,” Jim said, his words skating on the edge of annoyance. “What’s going on?” It was obvious that this maneuver was related to his foul attitude in the mess hall, but Jim wasn’t about to openly admit to that. Standard protocol was necessary to maintain if he didn’t want to trigger any more red alerts. His expression contorted and he jerked his face to the side when a medical scanner hovered near it.

“I was hopin’ you’d tell me,” McCoy replied nonchalantly as he continued to wave the device over Jim’s frame. “But since you won’t, I’ll have to find out on my own.”

“I already explained to you that Komack—”

“Low blood sugar, low metabolism, lower blood flow to the brain,” McCoy commented to himself, completely ignoring Jim’s words. “Causes: stress and lack of sleep.”

“Bones!” Jim’s hand lashed out and grabbed McCoy by the wrist. His tone lowered. “I told you I’m fine.”

“Excuse me, Captain, Sir,” McCoy replied with cool indifference, “but I’ll be the one to make that judgement.”

With an inhale, Jim’s eyes wandered off and his lips pulled in. He nodded slightly, released the wrist he held, and then willed his tense frame to relax. Without any further movements, he allowed the medical scanner to pass from the top of his head to the feet cementing him in place. Those few moments were enough time to gather himself. Jim couldn’t fault McCoy for being concerned; it was his job.

When McCoy stood up with his attention on the readout, Jim’s brows raised and he asked, “Well?”

“You’re in perfect health, other than showing signs of stress and fatigue.”

“Thank you for confirming that,” Jim said, with no sarcasm present in his tone. “Are you in the mood for an apology now?” When McCoy’s eyes raised to his, Jim’s voice became soft but deliberate. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t sleep well last night. The change in the mission plan had me stressed. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you this morning.”

For a few moments, McCoy was silent. “All right, then. Missions change all the time. Why does this one have you so upset?”

Jim’s tongue poked out. He wet his lips while looking to the floor and then slipped into the nearest seat. A hand raised, rubbed at his eyes, and swept back through his hair. “They took us off of the Mir VI assignment, Bones. It’s been replaced with a diplomatic mission.”

McCoy’s face contorted. “A diplomatic mission?! Now?!”

“No rest for the weary, it seems.” Jim’s gaze crept from the table up to McCoy’s face. “Would you like to make a guess at how this situation gets even worse?”

“Do you _really_ want me to start making a list?” McCoy sat in the chair beside him and placed his scanner down.

Jim’s neutral expression barely changed with the twitching of his lips at that remark, but they immediately went back into a line. “It’s on Gantir.”

“ _Gantir_?!”

Jim simply closed his eyes and nodded.

“What could Command _possibly_ be sending us to _that_ hellhole for?!”

“Diplomacy, apparently.”

“Well,” McCoy huffed loudly. “Suppose that answers a few of my questions. I guess you really _do_ get a pass for being irritable.”

Jim’s voice went flat and his expression turned momentarily unimpressed. “Thanks.”

Ignoring the change in Jim’s tone, McCoy’s brows drew together and he cupped his mouth in thought, stroking his cheeks. His hand abruptly dropped into a fist and banged on the table. “Of all the places, it has to be _Gantir_? Komack has some damn nerve! Never mind the fact we’re all overworked and had shore leave delayed twice already.”

“I know. He tried to make that a third time, but I wouldn’t allow it. It’s nothing to worry about, though. I already have that piece figured out.” Without elaborating, Jim’s hands clasped and rested before him. He looked down at them quickly and then back up. “I’m sorry again, Bones. I know you’re just doing your job and you don’t need me giving you grief on top of it.”

“No harm done, Jim, but it’s more than just doing my work,” McCoy replied and then their eyes met. “We’re friends, you know? I’m not about to idly sit around if I think something’s wrong.”

Jim smiled. “And I hope you realize how grateful I am for that. You always manage to balance me out.” There was a pause. “But just for the record…if only to hear myself say it out loud…I’d never willingly do anything to compromise this ship. Or the crew.”

“Oh, of course,” McCoy agreed. “But can you say the same for yourself?”

Jim’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What—?”

“Are you taking care of _yourself_ , Jim? Giving your body what it needs?” McCoy asked. “I’m gonna be frank with you. I’m glad your weight’s down. But for two days in a row, I’ve seen you not eat breakfast and it’s got me worried that…”

Jim cut him off with a quiet laugh. His eyes fell closed and with a sigh, he leaned forward until his forehead touched the back of his hands on the table. “You know, Bones, you’re a real piece of work.” Jim sat up then. “You complain about my weight for years and now that it’s down, you’re still—”

“I’m worried about you working yourself to exhaustion!” McCoy interrupted hotly. “As usual. You’ll remember it’s a constant concern I’ve had since the day I met you. Sometimes, you just don’t know when to quit.”

Jim’s eyes fell back down to his hands. How true… His lips pressed into a firm line before they barely twitched at the corners. “Yeah,” he offered softly as if he spoke more to himself. “You’re right. I guess sometimes I don’t.”

“Look, Jim. As your doctor, I can’t find anything medically wrong to order you on leave.” McCoy’s voice finally lessened in severity. “But as your friend, I’m asking you to take it easy—to get some rest before I’m in the position to give that order...and need to log it in your record.”

Jim nodded quietly. “Thanks, Bones. I’ll do that.”

“Will you, Jim?”

“I have a lot going on in the next few hours. Once Alpha shift is up though, I’ll transfer the conn and go to my quarters. I have to work on duty reassignment and schedule changes because of the new orders anyway.”

The men sat quietly for a few moments before McCoy finally relented. “All right, Jim. It’s better than nothing. I’m going to give you a mild stimulant to correct the metabolic and blood flow imbalances.” Opening the kit at his side, he procured a hypo and pressed it to Jim’s neck. Then, McCoy stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But do me another favor and eat something before you go back to the bridge, all right? And please…get a full night’s sleep tonight. Don’t give me reason to get on your ass tomorrow.”

“Recommendation heard loud and clear, Doctor.”

McCoy studied Jim for a beat before his chin dropped in a stiff nod. “See you later.” His mouth upturned in a small smile. “Captain.”

Jim stood and turned, watched one of the truest friends he’d ever known exit into the corridor without ever looking back. It was obvious that McCoy trusted him implicitly, and wanted only the best for him. And if Jim were honest, he found the smallest bit of comfort in knowing someone cared enough to pull him away from his duties out of concern for his wellbeing.

The conference room was soundless, except for the soothing background hum of the ship at warp. Jim listened and heard what she was saying to him: that she _was_ his ship and he, her captain. At one time, the Enterprise had been everything Jim had ever wanted and more. And now, she told him that she could become that for him again in time so long as he kept his heart open to her, despite its wounds.

Jim walked forward and brought his hand to tentatively hover parallel to the wall. He observed the shadow cast upon it before his fingertips touched the gray metal, followed by his palm. His face fell and his digits slowly curled in to form a loose fist. Looking to the side, Jim stared at the synthesizer in consideration.

Then, his chin raised, his shoulders pushed back, and Captain Kirk returned to the bridge.

 

_“Your mother is human.”_

_“My mother is in an entirely different situation.”_

_“How?”_

Every death knell carried a unique sound.

_Ruth. “Ask my dad first.”_

_Carol. “Jim, you don’t understand._ I’m _leaving_ you _.”_

_Edith. “Whatever it is, let me help.”_

_Spock. “My father was_ willing _to bond with her.”_

_…Jim. “The hell with you.”_

When the curtain dropped on every previous occasion, there’d never been an encore. But now, that last line kept repeating itself infinitely, and Jim could clearly see the same expression on Spock’s face with each recurrence.

He wasn’t sure what hurt more—what he felt or what he saw over and over again.

His hand clenched on the armrest of his chair. Captain. He was Captain Kirk. Unbreakable, unflappable. And that was how he would remain…as long as his eyes avoided the right side of the bridge and his thoughts stayed far away from the damage he’d done last ship’s night.

Impractical, maybe. But effective? …At least it was for now.

 

 

The stylus tapped upon the desk in rapid succession. McCoy sat back comfortably in his small office, with his ankle resting over the opposite knee and his PADD angled against the calf of his elevated leg. He’d been perusing a scientific paper on the effects of hypothalamus stimulation to curb postpartum depression in Andorian male bearers when the door slid open.

“Doctor McCoy?” Chapel’s head poked inside. “Mister Spock is here for his scheduled checkup.”

“Thank you, Nurse. Take him over to room two and I’ll be right there.” McCoy blinked hard, gesturing the device to save his place in the paper and then navigated to Spock’s file. He briefed himself again on the nature of the injury, looking at data from the bone scan and the exact location of repair. Then, he was on his feet and making his way over to meet his guest.

The front section of sickbay was divided into two large, open spaces with biobeds and emergency treatment equipment in arm’s reach. Much of McCoy’s work was done in either of these rooms because of the ease of moving about and availability of everything he needed being right there.

He walked from his office, through the smaller space, and entered the larger one with four biobeds, his footsteps carrying him right by the location where he’d originally fixed Spock’s injury. While he’d normally perform quick follow up visits there, today was different. He had something more personal to discuss with Spock other than just the condition of his ankle.

McCoy strolled to the far back of the bay and into a secluded corridor that housed several small recovery and private examination rooms. From the second one down, he heard Chapel say, “The doctor will be right in,” and then she exited.

“Oh, Doctor! There you are. Mister Spock is all set in room two.”

“My thanks.” McCoy nodded his appreciation as well and then walked in, to find Spock sitting on the table with his legs stretched out before him. His right foot was exposed.

“Hello, Spock.”

“Doctor.”

“Computer, close door and engage privacy lock. So, let’s take a look at your injury.” McCoy placed his PADD down on the tiny side table and rolled up Spock’s trouser leg. “Any pain since treatment?”

“Negative.”

Running his medical scanner over the damage site, McCoy took readings that confirmed a full recovery. “Did you notice any bruising when you peeled off the dermal stimulators?”

“No,” Spock answered.

“Good.” McCoy tapped the scanner to his PADD and the information was transferred directly into Spock’s file. “Any complaints? Ankle-related or otherwise?”

“None.”

“Quick and to the point, as usual. Spock, have I ever told you that sometimes you’re my favorite patient?” McCoy asked while skimming over the details once more on his device before marking the case as closed.

Spock shook his head. “No, Doctor, you have not.” He began sliding to the edge of the table and added, “Though I doubt that is to be accepted as a genuine compliment, as it is likely another expression of your...” A dark brow raised. “…charming sarcasm.”

“Take it as you will, Mister Spock.” McCoy placed the stylus down and then stuck his hand out before Spock’s chest to prevent him from reaching down to pick up his boot. “Hang on. We need to talk for a minute.”

Spock paused, looking up at McCoy before straightening himself.

“Look, Spock, I’m sorry about this morning. Everyone’s under a lot of stress right now. The crew’s overworked, especially Jim. In fact, I…” McCoy tapped his stylus on the PADD and then crossed his arms, turning back to Spock. “I talked to him earlier.”

Spock remained quiet, listening warily.

“He told me Komack’s got us reassigned to handle some diplomatic relations on Gantir. Can you imagine the nerve? It’s no wonder Jim wasn’t in the mood for talking this morning.” Spock carefully observed him and then his eyes fell—something McCoy simply dismissed as no more than his Vulcan friend simply being annoyingly Vulcan. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I cleared up the concerns I expressed in front of you.”

“Very well.” Spock’s slender hands pushed against the side of the table and he slid off, keeping his bare foot from touching the floor.

“I figured you’d be interested in knowing Jim’s okay after seeing him in that state this morning, is all,” McCoy prodded, watching Spock sit down again with his boot at his side. He began to slip his sock on. “Considering you’re, how did I call it? Ah, _joined at the hip_.”

He wasn’t able to pinpoint the exact reasoning, but talking to Spock about his impending plan of retirement made McCoy feel slightly anxious; he had no idea what kind of reaction he’d get. It wasn’t any help to his situation that Spock had been even more standoffish than usual since they met over breakfast. He swallowed his concerns.

“In fact, uh,” McCoy muttered as he watched Spock slide his boot on. “That’s what I’m counting on, Spock.”

Their eyes met, and Spock froze, his hands remaining grasped to the bottom of the trouser leg he’d begun to straighten. A brief period of tense quiet followed. “…I beg your pardon, Doctor?”

“After this mission is over, I’m going to retire.”

Dead silence loomed between them once again, until McCoy finally said, “I honestly can’t believe that surprises you.”

Those words seemed to inspire Spock into snapping out of his trance and finishing the work of smoothing out his trouser leg. Once all was in order, he stood and tugged on the back of his tunic. “It does not. Why these two topics are related, however, eludes me.”

“Well, after the track record Jim’s earned himself, it’s obvious that he’s going to be keeping this ship.” There was a pause. “I figured you would be up for another five years with him, that you’d both be watching over each other.” When Spock didn’t reply, McCoy prodded, “…Or did I assume too much?”

Spock shook his head. “I have received no further orders from Starfleet Command. Therefore, I am uncertain as to what my future holds.”

“You’re relying on _Starfleet_ to tell you that? After all the good you’ve done and all your experience?” McCoy asked, uncrossing his arms. The look of confusion he received in return made him elaborate. “Spock, after all this time, isn’t there something _you_ want? You can’t tell me that you’re willing to just keep living your life according to someone else’s rules and becoming whatever they tell you to be.”

“What I desire for myself is irrelevant. Where I am needed is what counts.”

“Heh.” McCoy picked up his PADD and slipped the stylus behind his ear. “It’s that kind of talk that makes me worry about you. How is it that you’re so content to just settle for anything thrown in your direction?”

Lifting his chin, Spock opened his mouth and then closed it.

“I can’t tell you what to do. Hell, you won’t listen anyway,” McCoy added with a shrug. “But if HQ tries pulling you away from Jim, I think you should argue it. Unless you want to be promoted, of course, but last I heard, that wasn’t on your bucket list.”

Spock shook his head but before he could inquire about that idiom, McCoy raised his hand. “Spock, I’m not just saying all this to clear my conscience, either. You and Jim have something special, something I’ve never seen a command team share before. I think you both have a ways to go together to really hit your potential. It’d be a real shame if that were wasted.”

Spock’s eyes pulled from McCoy’s. “And if an outside influence affects that, Doctor? Orders are orders. What can be done?”

McCoy’s brows raised and he leaned in. “You could try sayin’ _no_ for once. Maybe _fight_ for what you want instead of just accepting the hand life deals you all the time.” He straightened himself, and then a small smile crossed his face. “But again, I’m not telling you what to do, Spock…just letting you know what I see. Now, you take care and I don’t want to see you injured again for at least another month.”

A beat. “…Oh, and let’s try being especially nice to Jim while this Gantir business is unfolding. He needs all the support he can get.”

It took a moment for Spock to look up but when he did, McCoy gave him a firm nod. “Computer, privacy lock disengage.”

And with that, the doctor turned on his heels and felt more than a bit confident about the seed he’d planted in Spock’s mind; his suggestion had apparently been so profound that it’d actually stolen the words right from those Vulcan lips.

McCoy thought he’d never see the day.

 

_“Is that all you really are?”_

_The room was too hot._

_The bed was too cold. Too large. Too empty._

_“If that is your judgement, then—”_

_It was dead in the middle of ship’s night when Jim stared blankly out the window. He’d been lying in his now very massive and very empty bed, when his vision significantly blurred. The points of light outside the ship merged to negligible blotches._

_“The hell with you.”_

_Space was awfully empty without stars. He held his breath until his composure disintegrated and then drowned himself in the absence of his characteristic strength. When his throat tightened and his hands tightly fisted the blankets, several loud and choppy exhales emerged from between Jim’s lips. In spite of all this he could handle it, he told himself. He could fall apart in the solitude of his bed and no one else would ever know. In the end, control and pride weren’t the most important things he’d lost this night._

_He would prevail. He would. He told himself that, like those words were meaningful._

_Jim pulled the pillow which no longer belonged to Spock into his arms and waited for the sleep he knew would never come._

_The fabric of the pillowcase smelled like spice. His eyes squeezed shut and he held his breath once more._

 

 

 

A soft voice went unnoticed when it beckoned, “Enterprise to Yeoman Rand.”

Though her tea had grown cold long ago, Rand’s fingers still remained latticed around the cup. By staring into the dark green liquid, she successfully blocked all the background activity bustling around her in the mess hall. Rand was so entranced, so deeply lost in her own universe that she hadn’t noticed when a red uniform appeared across the table from her.

The request was repeated, much louder this time. “Nyota to Janice, please respond.”

Startled, Rand jolted in her seat and gasped, her eyes focusing as she crashed back to reality. She lifted her chin and blinked several times, watching while her friend sat in the chair across from her.

Uhura offered her a warm grin. “You look like you’re thinking pretty hard there, Janice. A credit for your thoughts?”

Rand blew out a breath, diverting her attention to the side. “Oh, is that all their worth? One credit?” There was a tinge of bitterness in her tone.

“Two, then?” Uhura’s pleasantries faded when no reply came. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching across the table and touching Rand’s wrist. “What is it?”

“I take it you saw the message,” Rand said, keeping her eyes on some obscure place to the left.

“Which one?” Uhura inquired patiently. “I see a lot of them, you know.”

Rand turned her face to Uhura’s once more. “The Alkar Beta research is being transferred to a dedicated facility.” After the fact, she muttered, “As expected.”

Uhura hummed and retracted her hand back to her side of the table. She crossed her arms and leaned in, letting her eyes fall to the surface for a beat. “…I see.” They raised to meet Rand’s again.

“I don’t know why I feel so strange about this. We all knew it was going to happen. I mean, it wouldn’t make sense for the project to stay aboard the Enterprise, but I still…” Rand’s fingers tapped on the cup and she glanced at her untouched tea. “I guess I’m just disappointed.”

“That’s understandable. You were so excited about it,” Uhura offered, cocking her head to the side. “I was really happy when you told me the captain began involving you with the science team’s projects.” She paused. “You know…maybe that’s how you have to look at it. I’m sure he’ll have you working with them more in the future.”

“I guess,” Rand said, finally lifting her hand up and rubbing at her brow. She kept her eyes closed as her palm pressed into the side of her face. “It’s just…I don’t know, Nyota. I’m questioning everything right now.”

“Like what?”

Rand drew in a deep breath and released it as her hand landed back on the table with a tap. “Oh, just my entire _career choice_. It’s just—well, you know. I started late, made some wrong turns…you’re aware of what the relationship was like with my mother.”

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Uhura gave a single nod.

“I was in such a rush to get to space and prove I could make something of myself out here that I let my advisor talk me into taking the yeoman route at the academy. Getting here quicker but progressing in rank slower seemed like a reasonable tradeoff back then.” Rand’s voice flattened. “But here I am, being bounced around from ship to ship like nothing. Always at the mercy of everyone else’s whims. …Until now.” Rand’s eyebrows pulled inward for a moment and she murmured to herself, “Maybe.”

“Do I detect the formation of a new plan over there?” Uhura prodded, lifting her chin as a fresh expression of interest spread across her face.

“Kind of…I guess you could call it that,” Rand said. “I never seriously considered pursuing a career in science before, but that’s begun to change. Ever since I started working with Miyako on this flower pollen business, it’s just been so interesting. I’m not even worn out by the end of my shift. I mean, I get tired of course, but I go back to my quarters and my head is still in the work.”

Uhura clasped her hands and placed her elbows on the table. “How does Miya feel about the project’s transfer?”

“Lieutenant Fujinami is Lieutenant Fujinami, of course,” Rand replied with an air of formality to her tone and her lips easing into a tiny smile. “Always ready to take on the next thing. Honestly, I think she’s happy. She’s got so much on her plate already, and we’ve taken the research as far as we’re permitted to go onboard, so...”

Uhura chuckled. “Sounds like her, all right.”

“There’s more, though. The captain asked me to work with Ensign Arte to catalog a new specimen she discovered the other day. Since we were both newbies, Commander Spock was helping us. And at some point, it just dawned on me that I—of all people!—was playing a part in documenting the discovery of life that was new to us.” Rand huffed and shook her head. “I mean, yeah, it was a microbe but that has the potential to lead to much greater things.” Her shoulders slouched and she pushed her right foot forward beneath the table.

When the smile bloomed across her face, Uhura’s elation became nearly tangible. “Hey, that’s really exciting! First contacts always make for interesting times—when they go well, at least!” She laughed. “But to discover life that’s new to us and catalog it like that? I have to admit, Janice, I’m a little jealous.” Her delight was short-lived, however, when she observed her friend deflating across from her. “I’m…sorry.” Uhura squinted and shook her head. “But I can’t see why you’re feeling so down about this.”

“It’s because those few hours working with them were so much more important than anything I’ve ever done in my career up to that point. My day-to-day role is so insignificant by comparison,” Rand admitted. “I’m serving coffee while someone on this ship is discovering and documenting new life. That’s kind of sad when you think about it.”

“You feel like your work isn’t important?” Uhura asked, her expression becoming immediately serious and her voice a little stronger. “Because I can assure you that you do a lot more than just _serve coffee_ , Janice. _And_ I can list off a whole slew of people who appreciate you right now—starting with Captain Kirk, himself.”

“That’s the problem, Nyota,” Rand replied, a grave tone to her voice. “The captain was the one who fought hard to bring me back to the Enterprise. He’s giving me all these opportunities to branch out and remove myself from petty officer tasks. And I’ve really enjoyed that. Really. As I said, it’s made me rethink everything.”

Rand’s lips pulled into a sad smile. “But I feel so guilty. Before I was transferred out during the first year, I told the captain how I’d always been interested in science. We were on a planetary survey mission about three parsecs from Research Outpost 13. What I said then was true, but I was really only talking to pass time, you know? I never thought anything would come of it.”

Uhura nodded.

“However, he took me more seriously than anyone ever had before. I never expected him to offer getting me involved with that part of the team based on a simple conversation.” Rand clasped her hands and shrugged. “Of course, before it could happen, Command had me sent over to the Yorktown and it never crossed my mind again.”

Rand’s eyes wandered up to the ceiling briefly. “But here I am, back on this ship. And it looks like the captain’s making good on his promise.” She shook her head. “I know it wasn’t easy for him to have me transferred back, so I guess it’s just eating at my conscience that I’m even letting the _thought_ of going away again enter my mind.”

Uhura loudly exhaled through her nose. “Is _that_ what you’re worried about?!”

Rand pushed her shoulders back and she blinked several times. “…What do you mean?”

“Janice, why do you think Captain Kirk is letting you take on these other responsibilities? To get hands-on experience, just so you can keep doing what you’re doing today? I think he’s _expecting_ you to change directions.”

“Maybe, but I…practically just got back,” Rand stammered. “It’s been three months and it all flew by so quickly. I have so much to learn if I’m serious about this though, and I guess I was just thinking...since I felt so passionate about it and all…maybe if I try transferring to the research facility where the Alkar Beta project is going, I’d have a better chance at changing my career in the future.”

“For what it’s worth, I’d miss you terribly but I support you all the way,” Uhura said. “And I’m sure the captain feels the same way. But this isn’t about any of us approving or disapproving, right? This is _your_ life and _your_ career. If it’s really what you want, then go for it. We only have a hundred and thirty years or so to live. I say make the best and the most of it.”

Rand sighed heavily. “I guess. I guess you’re right.”

“Look.” Uhura’s hand crept back across the table. “Why don’t you go somewhere quiet to think on this? This place is too noisy to be weighing life decisions.” A sweet smile pulled across her face.

“Thanks, Nyota,” Rand replied quietly. “I think you’re right. I just need some time alone to make sense out of everything.”

“Definitely. But if you feel like company later, why don’t you eat dinner with Christine and me tonight? We were planning to hit the gym afterward, too. You’ve been so busy recently and we’ve both missed our little triumvirate dates.”

A tiny grin pricked the corners of Rand’s mouth as she stood. “All right, then.”

“See ya here at 1530!” Uhura said with a wink.

“See ya.” And with that, Rand took her leave—stopping only once to look over her shoulder. Her eyes softened as they fell on Nyota floating across the room to another table, and Rand felt herself genuinely smile for the first time all day.

 

 

 

_I’ll never push him further than he can go, never ask him for more than he give._

_“Well?!”_

_I’ll give him a place to belong. I’ll protect him. I’ll let him be himself and grow and find his own way._

_“That’s what you always strove for though, isn’t it? Becoming nothing more than a machine?”_

_I’ll love him._

_“The hell with you.”_

_I’ll love him._

_“The hell with—”_

_Love him._

_I’ll always love him._

 

 

 

The lowest level observation deck was a work of simple elegance laced with irony: it was designed to present an airy scene, and yet would steal the breath from the lungs of any visitor.

Small circular pads of faint white lights constituted the entire floor to produce a soft blurry glow and illuminate the bare space with the essence of surrealism; it resembled the way in which Terran moonlight would wash over wet pavement in a shimmering rain of silver.

This room was very quiet and very open, filled only by a smattering of minimalist benches placed along the perimeter. Thin strips of mellow blue gleamed along the black ceiling and dark pearl walls, lending an additional touch of magic to an atmosphere already laden with it.

Foot traffic here was scarce, especially during main shift hours. Compared to the massive congregation space on level six with its grand décor, this location was devoid of the same social heartbeat; familiar design had been traded for immaculate nothingness and friendly conversation for silence. However, they were the qualities which made this observation area the ideal place for one who wanted to be alone to think—to look out at the expanse of the universe and be reminded of their place as one tiny pinprick of consciousness in an endless sea of possibilities.

Jim often found himself here.

Outside of these windows were billions and billions of stars studding the dark fabric of space like rhinestones—and among them, a billion dreams, a billion hopes, a billion promises cast out like messages in bottles. How many of those were Jim’s own, he couldn’t ever say.

He’d made good on his promise to McCoy; Jim had taken himself off bridge duty once alpha shift ended and locked himself in his quarters. He’d synthesized his lunch for consumption at his desk; the small dining table was still host to the chess game which seemed damned to forever remain in its partially setup state. Jim hadn’t even been able to bring himself to look at it, let alone take it down.

However, even as he kept himself busy with work while he ate, he only managed to consume half of his meal before he gave up on it. It wouldn’t be wasted; any remains were broken down by the recycler and those particles returned to one of the many storage tanks for reuse. Despite that, it’d been a very long time since Jim had lost his appetite in this way.

In a manner of speaking, it felt that Jim, himself, was on the menu since he was being eaten alive by guilt. Those echoes of words he’d spoken last night resounded over and over, until he could no longer stand the noise in his mind any longer.

At that point, Jim had set his PADD to sleep mode, stood, straightened his shirt, and strode out into the corridor. His heavy footsteps carried him further and further away from his quarters, until he was here with false hopes to find healing and perspective. Jim knew he was being unrealistic, however; after the way he’d walked out on Spock with no resolution in sight, attaining even a glimmer of peace would be impossible.

Yes, he’d been hurt in the worst way, but he’d also caused as much damage as he suffered. They weren’t wounds that could be smoothed over with an apology or by simply taking back what was said. Jim went against the one thing he promised himself he’d never do, and right now, he couldn’t even face his own reflection.

He was no stranger to conflict or heartache. Jim didn’t need to rehash memories of his more difficult duties or ex-lovers yet again. Even if he felt up to that level of soul-searching, it would have done him no good; this situation was unique, if only because it’d brought out an unrecognizable side of himself that made him cringe.

After what he endured as an adolescent, Jim handled all following hardships with grace and dignity. Tarsus IV gave his young mind some knowledge that only people well on in their years might attain. It was during that time when Jim had learned that fewer things in life could be worse than being surrounded by mass famine and death. Therefore, Ruth and Gary messing with his feelings, Carol walking away with a baby he’d never know, even surviving the massacre on the Farragut…all these and other painful experiences could be compared and then rationalized away.

“ _I’ve seen worse_ ” became his silent tactic to handle anything traumatic.

Jim wouldn’t deny the existence of a certain parallel in that coping method. His manner of dealing with pain and uncomfortable situations was all too similar to Spock’s usage of logic for the same reason. They were more alike than different; after all, if comparing the trauma between two scenarios made Jim feel stronger and less affected on the inside, he saw no qualm in seeking comfort from it. He certainly couldn’t damn Spock for doing the same thing in his own way.

The only problem was that he _had_ damned him for it, if only for last ship’s night. One instance was one too many. The words that left Jim’s mouth had been venomous, and once they began, they couldn’t stop.

For the hundredth time, Jim’s stomach churned and he felt a crushing force pressing against his shoulders. This was why he wanted to keep himself busy. Staying around the crew ensured he’d keep himself in check, but being alone magnified everything that troubled him. There was no end in sight either, not with Spock still on shift. Even if he were off duty, Jim had no idea how to go about fixing this. Experience gave him no reference point, despite there being strong reminders of the past tangled up in the present.

In some ways, Jim felt as betrayed as he had with Ruth—but she’d been in it only to deceive him. And similar to Carol, his choice was once again nullified by someone making massive decisions without considering how they would affect him—but that had been done out of pure selfishness. As for Jim, himself, he’d faced all of these unfortunate events with humility and elegance. He always kept his cool, always thought before he spoke.

But even if there were bits of unpleasant nostalgia preying on Jim’s feelings, Spock was different. There was one thing that set their relationship apart from all others, and it was because Jim had honestly believed that this was it. For the first time, he could see the gates of forever opening when Spock’s arms moved to embrace him.

But last night, Jim’s mouth went off like there was no connection to the decision making center of his brain. Spock was sitting near the pillows, with a blank expression and seemingly unaffected in the face of all the misery Jim felt. And when Jim selfishly felt like he was suffering alone, all that had mattered was making Spock break, if only to prove he cared in the slightest. Jim pressed and pressed, impulsively telling himself that any emotional reaction would satisfy him.

The harder he tried, the tighter Spock wound up, and the situation quickly devolved into poorly chosen words fired off entirely out of desperation. And in that chaos, he hurt Spock just as badly as Spock had hurt him—if not more.

Jim exhaled and his eyes lowered as a hand cupped over his forehead. It stroked back and up through his hair. In the past, seeing the view from this sacred place of introspection had been a fast-working antidote to cure any ailment; it was impossible to take in all those points of light and think any problem could ever be larger.

This time, everything was different. As Jim’s hand pressed against the transparent aluminum, he could look only as far as his own reflection, could hear nothing but the same words that drove him out of his quarters.

Jim groaned softly and turned his face from the window, leaning his shoulder into it instead and diverting his attention to anywhere other than the eyes staring back at him; his own image judged him just as harshly as his thoughts, and he couldn’t take the simultaneous scrutiny of both.

There were portraits in the stars—shapes and figures that formed to anyone who stared hard enough at them. One glittering point led to the next, connecting dots and forming lines, building invisible bridges between Seltar IV and Delvine Prime, and then linking that line to Alaxa to paint a bigger picture.

Somewhere out there, among all those dreams and hopes and promises, was a roadmap and the consequent story of every life. And where Jim had once seen himself, now he could only see Spock.

He shoved off against the transparent aluminum and sent himself staggering to the nearest bench. Dropping down, Jim sat with his elbows pressed unto his knees and leaned forward to massage his eyes in small circles.

Regret was a terrible curse to live with. He should’ve left last night. Should’ve walked out to calm down, should’ve waited until he reestablished his sensibilities, should’ve known better than to say those words that haunted him now.

What was most troubling of all was that Jim _had_ known, though. He found it unthinkable, how he’d endured so much strife over his years without ever lashing out in malice, until now. By his own coping method, he’d certainly seen worse. But perhaps the root of all this guilt was that while Jim claimed to love Spock most of all, he’d senselessly hurt him worse than any other.

How could he have said what he said? _How_?

Jim’s hands fell and his fingers entwined, dangling just over his kneecaps when the doors slid open. The sound forced an immediate transformation from man to legend. Captain Kirk’s spine straightened and he looked over his shoulder to see Rand stopping short just upon entering.

“Oh! Captain…” she said quietly, falling back on her heels. “I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Jim shook his head and got to his feet. “You didn’t. Please.” He held his hand toward the row of empty benches and observed as Rand swallowed, clutched her PADD close to her chest, and remained in place. It was as if she were inwardly trying to make a decision.

With a slow approach, Jim continued to study her obvious uncomfortable demeanor and stopped several steps before where she stood. “Are you all right?”

Rand’s lips parted and she shook her head, fumbling to find the right words. That was all Jim needed to see. “I’ll be taking my leave so you can have some quiet,” he offered.

“Sir,” Rand replied immediately. Her tone lessened in severity and Jim stopped mid-step. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sorry. I just have a lot of my mind.”

“No, no need to apologize,” Jim said. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Well,” she began slowly. “I’m honestly not sure.”

Jim’s expression softened and he once again held a hand toward the benches. The corners of Rand’s mouth nudged upward and she nodded once. Together, they walked across the glowing tiles and sat before one of the massive windows.

Not wanting to push, Jim remained quiet and simply looked at the woman sitting at his side. Rand’s arms relaxed so that the PADD wasn’t pressed so tightly against her chest, but her eyes were glued pensively to nowhere in particular on the floor. Her mouth opened but she said nothing.

“Janice,” Jim said tenderly. “If you don’t want to talk to me, it’s all right.”

Rand raised her face then. “No, Sir, that’s not it. I guess I’m just...” She cleared her throat. “I’m a little confused right now.”

Jim’s brows raised and he shook his head to indicate she should go on.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Rand continued with a drop of her chin. “Why did you have me transferred back here?”

Of all the things she might have said, Jim hadn’t expected to hear _that_. He pulled his lips taught and flicked his eyes down before returning them to her. “I’m not sure what you mean. You know how much I appreciated your work the first time around and of course, how well you fit in with the team.”

“If that’s the case, then why are you involving me with the science department?”

“Ah,” Jim said with a nod. “Oh, I see. If that’s what’s troubling you, you should’ve said something earlier.” A smile pulled across his face. “I can have you put back on your regular duties.”

“No,” Rand began. “No, I really, _really_ am enjoying that work. So much that I—” She paused. “Well…”

“Found a career you’re interested in pursuing?” Jim asked, his grin remaining.

“Is that why you had me transferred back to the Enterprise?”

“Honestly, I missed your work ethic and resourcefulness. I never met another person in Starfleet who used a phaser to make hot coffee only to boost crew morale.”

Rand chortled.

“I didn’t want to see you go when that transfer was handed down, and neither did anyone else. Besides, I had an old promise to make good on.” Jim turned his attention to the stars. “There’s great untapped potential in you, Janice. My only regret is that it took so long to give you the chance to explore it.” He clasped his hands and shrugged. “That was sadly out of my control.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Rand replied quietly. “Thank you for believing in me and wanting to give me the chance no one else would.”

“No need. You earned it,” Jim said and looked back at her. “So, I take it something recently captured your interest?”

“Yes.” Rand lowered the PADD to her lap and finally let her shoulders relax. “Working with Lieutenant Fujinami on the Alkar Beta project has been a great opportunity. It’s been so interesting. I’m excited about it.”

“But unfortunately…” Jim began, connecting the dots to take the pressure off of her having to say it all on her own; he knew this conversation was far from comfortable to have with a superior officer. “The project is being transferred off the ship.”

“Yes,” Rand agreed. “I’ll be sorry to see it go. Of course, I understand why it can’t stay aboard.”

“Do you want to be transferred along with it?” Jim questioned. “I can try to make that happen if it’s what you really want.”

“Oh,” Rand began, mirroring the same actions as when she’d just entered the room. It was a clear sign that she was denying herself from speaking the truth. “Sir, I don’t think—”

“It’s all right if that’s what you want. Of course, you have to know that I expected this to happen.” Jim’s head cocked to the side slightly. “Maybe not this soon, but that doesn’t matter.”

“I feel guilty about even considering to leave,” Rand admitted. “It wasn’t easy for you to bring me back and after three months, here I am thinking of being transferred again. I—”

Jim placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “No worries. Listen, I had you come back here because you deserve better. You should’ve been promoted a long time ago and you _would_ have been if Command didn’t have you transferring to every ship in the fleet.”

Rand smiled and chuckled to herself again. “Sometimes, it really felt that way.”

“So, I want to give you that opportunity.” Jim pulled his hand from her, and folded it with his other across his lap. “It’s all up to you, Janice. What’s most important? What does your heart tell you to do? The answer to that is the answer to all your questions.” He smiled. “I think you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

She diverted her eyes down for a beat before she looked back to him. “Not yet, Captain. But soon. I’ll decide soon.”

“Take your time,” Jim offered. “Even if you miss your chance to work on this particular project, others will come along. You’ll still have my full support.”

“That means more to me than you could ever know,” Rand said. “Thank you. For everything.” She paused. “Captain, if I can ask, is that how you ended up having command of this ship? By following your heart?”

The smile on Jim’s face widened and he laughed beneath his breath. “In a manner of speaking, you could say that.” He lifted his gaze to the window again. “I always knew that I belonged here.” His eyes roamed up to the ceiling and ran over the shimmery metallic surface. “Always knew, right from a very young age that commanding a starship was what the universe wanted me to do. I believe we’re all born to fulfil a specific purpose. The fun comes in figuring that out.”

“And you figure it out by determining what matters most to you,” Rand offered, a grin pulling at her cheeks. “I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. It might be strange, but I’d always thought that—” Her PADD pinged and she glanced down. “Oh gosh, it’s already time...Captain, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to meet Ensign Arte in the bio lab.”

“Far be it for me to keep someone from what they love,” Jim quipped and then got to his feet along with her. “And, Janice…” Their eyes met before Jim’s closed for only a moment in a gentle gesture before he repeated, “Take your time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied softly and hugged her PADD close, lingering for a short time before she took her leave.

Jim’s face lifted as he watched Rand quickly traverse across the room and disappear into the corridor. Only when the doors closed to leave him alone again was when his gaze fell. He took a deep breath and began to consider his own words of wisdom.

Jim blinked. He turned and walked right up to the window he’d had so much trouble looking out of before. With his hand placed against the surface again, he focused hard to see past his reflection.

And out there—Seltar IV and Delvine Prime and Alaxa…one point of light that lead to the next. A roadmap. A path.

_What’s most important?_

There were portraits in the stars, and those portraits always resembled what one wanted most of all.

_What does your heart tell you to do?_

Jim’s digits slid down the transparent aluminum until they curled in.

_I think you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?_

 

 

 

With a blank expression, Spock stared at the empty resignation form on his PADD. He’d been watching the cursor blink for five minutes and four seconds when his mouth fell open and he loudly exhaled. He laid the device flat on the desk and then let his spine press to the back of his chair.

His quarters were warm and dim, optimal for his comfort, yet he was anything _but_ comfortable. Spock’s chin met his shoulder when he turned his head to the side and then he barely slouched. Like this, his eyes closed.

Beta shift ended just thirteen minutes ago, and while the usual routine would have had him visiting one of the labs directly after, Spock was compelled to return to the one place he didn’t want to be. With the memories of what occurred on the other side of the room divider fresh in his mind, he had little desire to spend time in his quarters. However, he needed the privacy that only these walls could provide, now more than ever.

In the long hours while he lay sleepless during ship’s night, Spock stared out the window behind his pillow and wondered how he managed to do what he’d done to Jim. For the first time in a long time, he’d been back in his own bed and though it was sized for one, it felt too large, too cold. The gold shirt clenched tightly to his chest was a poor substitute for the emptiness that could be filled only by Jim’s presence.

Upon boarding the Enterprise, there was one place Spock knew he could always find balance; it was in his meditation sessions. Soon after Pike’s injury and the switch in command, he discovered part of that same comfort could be achieved by spending time with Jim. However, it was only after they’d finally fallen together romantically when Spock realized he had a second true safe space.

Now, he’d managed to decimate both. Meditation was currently an undesirable activity after too many futile attempts before alpha shift. The beauty of mental exercise came in the clarity it offered, but when that clarity reminded Spock only of what he’d done, there was no inner peace to be found. There would _be_ none, for as long as there was no resolution between Jim and himself.

Therefore, Spock’s immediate solution was to file a resignation statement. He zeroed his mind on every task during his shifts to keep himself busy and avoid thinking further about the finality of his solution. However, upon arriving at his quarters and bringing up the form, all he could manage was to stare at it. That was when the realization hit.

Once more, he was running away.

The word _selfish_ had been used on several occasions the previous ship’s night, and Spock was just now coming to terms with how accurate that description was. Resignation was his instinctual answer—another major decision that would impact the balance of Jim’s life without giving him the opportunity to have any say in it. It was an unthinkable thing to do to someone who valued freedom so staunchly after having had it ripped from him in his youth—and worse, to someone human and so driven by emotion.

Jim was as human as they came. But more than that, he was one who had been romantically involved with Spock for an extensive period of time by human years. The assumption that he would have been agreeable to justifying the termination of their relationship through logic was Spock’s first major mistake. He tried to rationalize this by insisting he wasn’t sure how he came to such an erroneous conclusion, other than blaming it on his Vulcan nature.

Spock’s lips pulled in. That was one of many lies he’d told himself all along, one of many he hadn’t recognized as falsehoods until he was standing alone in his quarters and wondering how it’d all come to this. Now that he identified his unintentional warping of the truth to protect himself, it was time to start facing it.

It was as Jim said. Anything could be justified by logic, and it was all too easy to do when logic was the only harbor one sought refuge in.

When sleep refused to come to him in the night, Spock had slid out of his bed and kneeled on his meditation mat with clasped hands. His eyes shut and his defenses lowered. Then, he tore down the walls of comfort that he’d erected and faced his true self uncensored.

What was found was unsurprising. Since the beginning, Spock dreaded that a situation like this would come to pass, where he’d find himself bereft of control and at the whim of tumultuous emotion. He’d been so frightened of hurting Jim, of considering the prospect of a life with him but also without him.

He didn’t _want_ to leave. But at the same time, Spock had believed for so long that he couldn’t stay, either. Pon Farr, his impassivity that was often found so abrasive, and his inability to soothe others’ turmoil were all glaring factors which told him repeatedly that he couldn’t be the lifelong mate Jim needed.

However, that first kiss he kept revisiting too many times as of late had turned into two and then three, and the neat plan for the rest of his life transformed into spontaneity. It was unpredictable and illogical, but also liberating to be with someone who actually loved him without trying to change him. With Jim, Spock could be who he was and never face criticism or demands for more than he could provide.

Naturally, there was also a ship to run—their ship. And on the bridge and away missions, Jim looked at him with _those_ eyes and reached out to him with _those_ touches. And before Spock knew it, his second Pon Farr and the need to take a mate were just figments of another lifetime that he could ignore.

Spock’s eyes finally opened and he blankly stared out across his quarters.

He could no longer ignore it now. Not after the pollen pushed these issues front and center and caused him to laser focus on the state of his life. Not after Sarek presented him with the logical answer to all the freshly reopened problems he hadn’t even realized he was avoiding until that fateful mission.

In theory, Spock had a plan. He had direction and guidance with how to proceed. Strict adherence to emotionless rationality paved a clear road to the solution. At one time, he might have accepted this without question, but things weren’t so simple any longer.

Disturbingly, Spock realized that taking the purely Vulcan route this time didn’t seem appropriate.

Therefore, he stalled at a crossroad, beginning to question for the first time ever if the most efficient and prudent way could be the correct answer every time. Jim had insisted against this vehemently when he stood on the other side of the divider, emotionally wrecked and arguing that logic wasn’t always the be all and end all to everything.

An emotional man challenging the sound constant of logic seemed paradoxical, even humorous in some ways. However, there was a philosophical component to that; it made Spock reminiscent of when he’d first recognized that the universe wasn’t comprised of total black or white, but many different colors—and in his case, a meld of Vulcan and Earth. It’d been the first small step he’d taken in his adult years toward accepting his identity.

He was now taking another by asking questions which challenged beliefs he’d held tightly to for all his life.

Could it really be true, that the right decision wasn’t always derived from a series of yes or no questions? Was it possible, that rare instances truly were a matter of _feeling_ and _intuition_ working in association with logic?

That wasn’t ideology Spock had ever readily embraced, but by the process of elimination, he had no reason to ignore it further. Even McCoy’s suggestion in sickbay promoted choice based on what was best for the one, and not the many.

 _“Spock, after all this time, isn’t there something_ you _want?”_

_“And if an outside influence affects that, Doctor? Orders are orders. What can be done?”_

_“You could try sayin’_ no _for once. Maybe fight for what you want instead of just accepting the hand life deals you all the time.”_

Spock tapped on his PADD to power it on again and immediately closed the resignation form.

Another loop, completed. He was in the same place he started, and every answer he could find once more led him directly back to Jim. Except now, there could be no redo from his side. Spock made his bed and he’d sleep in it. He had no right to ask Jim to attempt understanding all that he’d gone through to arrive back at this very location _again_ , had no right to admit that after all this, Jim could very well have been the answer from the start.

Spock leaned forward, pressed his elbows to the desk, and steepled his digits. The tips of his pointer fingers pushed against his forehead.

This wasn’t the first time he’d become trapped in a dilemma leading him in circles while he tried to fight his true nature. Spock had been running around the same track of combatting his human half for as long as he’d been alive. The severity of this war lessened only when he learned from Jim, McCoy, and Uhura how to begin embracing that part of his heritage. By that experience, perhaps he would learn to embrace a longstanding union with a human—if the offer was still open.

How many times had he faced this question? He always concluded that he didn’t deserve Jim.

But now, he considered, maybe if he worked harder and if Jim was truly willing to go along with the kind of life Spock could provide, perhaps he one day could. Spock recalled when he was last in the bed they’d shared, when he was naked and listening to the steady beating of a human heart. His memory replayed how he’d wondered if he could truly fight what the universe seemed to want most, as Jim drifted off to sleep with an arm keeping him close.

Spock had tried to oppose the will of nature in multiple instances over the last several days. Each futile effort brought him right back to where he stood now.

It’d always been so easy for Spock to make decisions on his own, to objectively look at all factors and choose the most efficient course of action. But after seeing Jim in that state last night…after watching him come undone and fall to pieces, after observing the way their command structure suffered, after hearing McCoy’s advice about the importance of individual desires…Spock thought long and hard about what he’d concluded regarding the ending of their relationship.

He blew out a heavy breath. Realistically, there were two options left.

There was more at stake than personal futures. There was a ship to run. And now, it was time for Spock to decide his fate once and for all. It was time to choose if he would follow what he deemed the emotional way: agree to whatever resolution Jim might propose and remain as first officer…or if he would do as logic commanded: leave both Jim and this vessel, without looking back again.

Of course, rationality told him to go, to follow the path laid out for him that clung to tradition and spare Jim from enduring the madness of Vulcan bonding.

The universe seemed to keep arguing that outcome, however, and that was when a piece of advice he’d dismissed as human sentiment finally clicked. Spock hadn’t ever fully comprehended what a _matter of the heart_ was; at present, he could only assume it was the force which stopped him from sending his resignation.

All he had to go by was Jim once telling him to try listening to his heart when logic didn’t _feel_ right. There hadn’t ever been such an instance, until now.

As a last ditch effort, Spock listened. He focused on the beating organ in his side, doubtful that it would tell him anything at all. When the minutes went by without success, he tried clearing his mind as he did while meditating—but instead of fortifying his shields, he dropped them. The first thing he heard was the resounding of McCoy’s words.

 _“After all this time, isn’t there something_ you _want?”_

Spock was unprepared for what came next.

The barrage of emotion was jarring all on its own—but it wasn’t until the moment an answer he never expected overcame him when his eyes snapped open and he jolted forward.

The chime sounded off from the main entrance and Spock sat up straight. There was no time to allow any of this to marinate. He immediately rebuilt his mental barriers and then got to his feet, attempting to wash away the raw feeling from his emotional epiphany. Opting to disable the lock by sensor instead of voice command, the door slid open and revealed Jim standing directly before him in the bright hallway.

“Hi.” The greeting was quiet and a bit apprehensive.

“Captain,” Spock replied in like. His hand clenched against the inside bulkhead. Jim looked so different now, without the necessity of keeping any usual facades up. He looked so… Spock felt his eyes soften in the slightest.

There was a brief period of uncomfortable silence while Spock searched for what to say next, until Jim took the initiative. “Can I come in?”

With a single nod, Spock stepped aside and remained facing the entrance until the door shut. He lifted his chin, swallowed, and slowly turned in place to find Jim slipping into the chair opposite of where he’d just been sitting.

Spock wondered what the protocol was. Would it be wise to offer Jim a drink? Should he speak first? That was when their eyes met. However, Jim’s quickly retreated and he motioned to the seat across from him before folding his hands in his lap.

They sat in more awkward silence for several moments, when Jim finally looked up.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t take it back and I know these words don’t mean anything at all.” Jim’s voice softened along with his eyes. “But I’m sorry, Spock.”

Spock shook his head. “It is—” He stopped. It wasn’t negligible, nor was it okay. He’d provoked Jim into saying things he hadn’t meant. He’d backed him into a corner, tried to bind him there with chains of logic. Nothing about this was acceptable.

Jim raised his hand to stop what Spock considered to say next. “I tried to distract myself from this all morning. When I was on the bridge and around the crew, I could keep my act together. But when I went to my quarters this afternoon…” His head tilted forward slightly and he huffed. “Let’s just say there was too much time to think.”

Spock watched as Jim got to his feet and began to pace aimlessly, back and forth.

“I tried not to. I tried to just…” Jim’s hands unclasped and separated, raising halfway in the air with a shrug. “…focus on duty schedules and reassignments and upcoming mission details. But I couldn’t. Not while everything that means so much to me was at stake.”

If only Jim could know how deeply Spock understood that struggle…however, he didn’t interrupt. Jim latticed his fingers back together and nodded. “So, I decided to stop drowning in my work and come to terms with what happened last night.” His meandering ceased at that point, and left him standing completely still while facing the door. “I mean, _really_ think about it.”

“I see.” Spock considered rising to his feet and approaching Jim, but something prevented him from leaving his chair. He felt smaller while sitting—less vulnerable, less susceptible to the throes of potent emotion. It was irrational, but the scar from their last encounter and lack of control on both their parts had him experiencing pangs of anxiety; he deadened it with his shields.

Jim’s tongue poked out to wet his lips and he crossed his arms. He took a large breath, held it, released it, and then turned to Spock.

“I said things to you that should have never been said.”

His boots tapped on the floor as he walked toward the empty chair, but Jim didn’t sit. Spock found it difficult to maintain contact with the depth of pain those human eyes revealed, but he dared not look away now.

“Captain, given the circumstances, it was understandable.”

“No. No, it wasn’t. All those things people said to you throughout your life to make you feel alienated, like you could never fit in.” Jim’s chin lifted. “You know, I promised myself that I would never—” His strong statement abruptly ended there and with it, he turned his head. “I’m not trying to make excuses here. I’m no better than anyone else, Spock.”

“You are incorrect,” Spock countered. “It was I who provoked you, I who failed to console you when you were reasonably injured. Though, I must disclose that none of it was intentional, Jim. I am…unsuited for this type of emotional exchange.”

“See?” Jim’s arms unraveled and he touched the back of the seat before sliding into it. “This is what happens. You internalize it. You twist everything to absolve the people around you while just accepting the blame for yourself. That’s why I’ve tried to be so careful, to make you feel appreciated as the individual you are.”

Spock’s lashes fell and he shook his head. “I am not senselessly _absolving_ you of anything. There is no indignity to pardon.”

“Say what you will,” Jim said. “What’s done is done. We can’t take back what we said or did. We can only move forward. And to do that, I need you, Spock.”

They stared at each other.

“Now more than ever, I _need_ you,” Jim insisted. “No one could ever take your place on this ship. So please, let’s come to a compromise here.”

Jim had pretty eyes, even when they were sad—even when he was attempting to conceal that fact. Anyone else might have forced their way into these quarters, shouting and out for blood, but Jim remained calm and in control because he _had_ to be. Spock’s shoulders fell while he tilted his head forward. He’d caused this. Even after all the strife Spock knew his actions brought on, Jim was mindful to keep himself calm for Vulcan comfort.

“A compromise,” Spock replied softly.

“Look, I meant what I said, Spock. I fell in love with you.” Jim paused, considering his next words before his voice lowered. “I’m sorry that makes you uncomfortable, but it’s the truth. However, I know I wasn’t the only one in our relationship, or the only one allowed to make decisions.”

Spock felt nausea creeping over him but he willed it down. He knew he should have said something immediately after that last statement, but all he could do was open his mouth. Words failed him. Jim was implying that such regard wasn’t mutual. What could Spock possibly say to dispute that when his recent actions had proved otherwise?

“It’s all right,” Jim said, raising his hand again. “Last night, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. I felt blindsided and vulnerable, and I started pouring my heart out because I didn’t know what else to do at the time. And you sat there without saying a word like you weren’t affected. But in retrospect, I knew you were.” His eyes wandered up to Spock’s. “You’re Vulcan. That’s just how you cope. I _knew_ that and yet I still hurt you.”

“That is irrelevant. I should have waited for your return,” Spock said. “Instead, I proceeded to remove my possessions without first coming to a proper agreement or resolution with you. I cannot and do not hold you accountable for what transpired after.”

“No, _I_ should’ve recognized it for what it was. I should’ve stayed calm. But I didn’t.” Jim huffed. “You said accepting your father’s recommendation was for my own good. It took a lot of soul-searching for me to realize...Spock, maybe it’s really more for _yours_. Maybe this really all was just…” He exhaled and left his thought dangling.

At some point in the last thirty hours, Spock had concluded that his decision was made with the good of the many in mind. It was beneficial for his family, for Jim, for T’Pak. At that time, he’d hoped that Jim would say these exact words, but to hear them now when he’d begun to question everything was like venom seeping through his veins.

Spock’s shoulders tensed. He couldn’t suggest otherwise after all the damage he caused. He had no right. Therefore, all he could do was offer an apology. “I am truly sorry for what I have done to you.”

“Don’t be,” Jim replied. “Here are the facts. Your father found a suitable match. You accepted that offer immediately.” A beat. “If this is what you want, if it’s what you feel you need to do, I accept it.”

Spock’s chin lifted and his lips parted.

“But I need you on this ship. I need us to be what we were professionally, for the sake of this crew and our mission. That’s how I arrived at this decision, Spock. I realized what matters most of all to me came down to two things. The Enterprise and you.”

Spock breathed out.

“No. Wait. I’ll clarify,” Jim said, apparently interpreting that exhale as disgust or discomfort. “When I say _you_ , I mean as in…your being comfortable. Being yourself. Not compelled to act in certain ways to satisfy the wishes of others around you.”

Jim wore a soft smile and then it faded. He swallowed and ran a finger along the edge of the desk. As he kept himself busy by watching it sliding back and forth, he continued. “I won’t lie to you. This is very difficult for me. But I’ll survive. And more importantly, I support you.” His voice softened. “I support your choice, Spock.”

Curiously, Jim’s current demeanor was more worrisome than it had been the prior evening. Spock hadn’t wanted to see him devastated the way he’d been, but he recognized that it was a healthy human response to the sudden infliction of pain. Here, Jim was nothing like the person Spock knew. He was despondent in place of eternal optimism, calm when he should have been full of fight.

And perhaps the most troublesome thing of all was how Jim appeared to be not only yielding to logic, but _accepting_ it. It was unthinkable, how Spock had attempted to find resolution through the heart, while Jim sought it from the mind. They’d both tried so hard to understand the other that they managed to cancel themselves out. It might have been laughable under any other circumstance.

“It’s selfish, you know,” Jim continued, his tone rising into spurious lightheartedness. “This is the way I can have it all. The Enterprise, knowing you’ll be all right…And all I need to do is accept that at the end of this year, I won’t be in your life anymore.” He quickly moved on to his conclusion and looked up. "So, is this something you can accept? To maintain the professional relationship this ship needs for the remaining duration of the mission?"

Spock stared into Jim’s eyes. His mouth formed a line and he nodded his head once.

“Thank you. But please. I have one last personal request of you.”

Jim’s hand crept across the desk toward the place Spock’s own rested. Little by little, it slid forward until the fingertips of their middle and pointer digits made contact—and then Jim gently placed his own over Spock’s.

His voice was rough. “Please be happy someday.” And then his touch was gone and he was immediately standing. Jim tore his gaze from Spock, turned his body to the side. His fingers pulled in and he grasped them to his chest with his other hand, cradling the fist they formed. “That’s all I needed to say.”

Spock stared at where his palm remained flat on the desk and then his eyes slowly wandered up to the frame of his captain. Jim wouldn’t look at him, and Spock found himself swallowing hard. This would be the last time they ever spoke like this, unless he followed what his heart told him to do.

How could he phrase it? Spock couldn’t go all out with declarations of affection which he had no idea how to make. He had no idea how to explain everything he’d just gone through, no clue how to convey that if Jim were still agreeable, they could discuss their personal relationship and decide how to proceed—or not proceed—together.

Slowly, Spock stood. “My loyalty—” he began, but immediately questioned those words. He paused to contemplate them.

“Is to the ship,” Jim finished softly. He closed his eyes for a moment before he added, “Yes, Spock, I know. Thank you.” He lingered for several seconds without ever looking back at Spock, and then bade a breathy, “Good night.”

No further words were spoken as Jim walked through the sleeping alcove. The sound of the door to their shared bathroom swished open, swished closed, and all Spock was left with was silence.

Indeed. Those hadn’t been the correct words.

They hadn’t been the correct ones to use at all.

 

 

 

“Oh, on the Starship Enterprise…” Uhura’s voice permeated throughout the observation deck, filling it with beautiful song as she strummed her lute.

“Lives a nurse with bluest eyes...

Her beauty took me by surprise…

Most lovely of the crew…”

Laughter erupted from that corner of the observation deck while Chapel exclaimed, “Nyota, please!”

Rand’s voice rang out afterward. “Mission accomplished, Nyota. She’s blushing!”

The banter continued until Uhura started a new song, continuing to make up words on the spot as she sang about other crewmembers while plucking at her strings. There were songs about Rand becoming a mad scientist on an outpost, about Scotty asking the captain if he could marry the ship, about Captain Kirk detaining Scotty for trying to steal his silver lady, and more until the hour grew late.

On occasion, Spock would attend these informal performances. At the start of this mission, Uhura had discovered his proficiency at playing the Vulcan lute and often asked him to join her singing sessions in the mess hall. Eventually, she’d begun learning how to play on her own under Spock’s guidance and today, anyone—Vulcan or no—would be not just impressed but made envious by her mastery of it.

Tonight, however, Spock hadn’t visited the observation deck to listen to her performance. He stood before the same large window he’d gazed out of with Jim many times…except on this occasion, no one stood at his side. He’d come here in search of the answers which remained elusive during meditation. Spock’s hands were clasped stiffly behind his back and he remained in the same place as the background noise from congregating crewmembers dwindled.

The amount of times Spock had looked out to the stars from this location with Jim was a number he would never publicly admit. It was a large statistic in his opinion, perhaps great enough to be considered a record somewhere.

Despite his being alone now, that score was under no threat of being tarnished, though. Spock could see nothing beyond his own reflection staring back at him—no stars, no clarity. Nothing but dark, judging eyes on the transparent aluminum.

He’d been concentrating so hard that the fading of background noise hadn’t captured his attention…nor the woman who appeared at his side.

“See something good out there, Mister Spock?” Uhura asked.

Spock turned to her immediately and raised his chin. “Lieutenant.” She was outfitted in a flowing white dress and hugged her lute close by crossing her arms over it.

Uhura wore a soft smile. “I thought I saw you over here while I was playing. You should drop by more often.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” Spock replied. “Your mastery of this instrument increases with each performance. It is highly commendable.”

“And it’s all thanks to you!”

Spock hummed and returned his gaze to the window. “Hardly, Lieutenant.”

“Well, I’ll be turning in,” Uhura said. “Make a good wish out there, all right?”

Spock’s eyes snapped to her as she began walking off. “I beg your pardon?”

“Wishing on stars, Mister Spock,” she chuckled. “An illogical human custom. But you never know, yours just might come true.” With a wink, Uhura was on her way again. “Good night, now!”

Spock stared after her until she disappeared down one of the paths through the park display, and then he cast his gaze back outside.

Out there were billions and billions of stars studding the dark fabric of space like rhinestones—and among them, a billion dreams, a billion hopes, a billion promises cast out like messages in bottles.

For the first time ever, Spock threw his own into the glittering sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> A few notes. :3
> 
> \- Janice Rand deserved better. It's my secondary objective to GIVE Janice Rand better in this story. There's one thing that conflicts with her canon here that I just want to point out. We learn in VOY that she was promoted to ensign after three years. However, this story takes place in the fourth year. Just wanted to say I'm breaking the rules a little bit in terms of timeline. <3
> 
> \- Uhura's song about Chapel is definitely to the tune of that song she sang during Charlie X. lol I just like these lyrics better because Charlie is a creeper.
> 
>  
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- My amazing beta readers: [ellie_rose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_rose), [lilybug98979](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybug98979), [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoublePlusAwesome/pseuds/vgersix)  
> \- You, for reading!! <3
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot can happen in forty-eight hours, but Jim finds he's more concerned with the next twenty-four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I'm sorry for the long update time. 2016 has been ridiculous. This chapter wound up being super long again. After asking around, I thought it better to break the chapters up. That means I'll post ch11 shortly. :3
> 
> Many many thanks to [Johix](http://johix.tumblr.com) for the lovely art! <3

**.* Chapter 10 *.**

Jim’s hands moved back from the sensor to stop the flow of water.

White walls, white ceiling, white furnishings… The long-term recovery rooms in sickbay held no hint of the same comforts found in crew quarters. Sterility permeated the environment through-and-through, offering too blank a canvas for the mind to run rampant on, and Jim’s had been in overdrive for hours.

Phantom needling sensations relentlessly pricked at his sore muscles now, the agitation only fueling his already heightened irritability. Despite them, Jim refused rest in favor of staying awake for as long as possible. A lengthy sleep would cure his ailments when he could find the time for it, but that time hadn’t been available in the last several hours.

Not when a massive firestorm was about to sweep over San Francisco.

…not when Jim would be the one to light the match.

For that reason, it’d been imperative to document the details when they were fresh in his memory and not muddled by passage of time. Twenty-three pages thereafter had Jim thinking about too many other threatening situations he’d been tossed into on prior occasions—had him thinking that his work in space always came hand-in-hand with danger, and how that was something he’d always understood and accepted.

But this time was different. It was personal, in more ways than one.

Jim braced himself over the edge of the small vanity, lightly tapping his fingers and remaining still as he watched steam rising from the shallow sink. It was strange how the brief hiss of something as ordinary as an activated faucet could have comforted him, but after hours of hearing nothing except the low thrum of a biobed heart monitor, any even remotely calming sound was a welcome change.

Then again, after the last week and a half, _anything_ was better than silence.

He exhaled out of his nose and flicked eyes heavy with exhaustion over to a stack of soft navy washcloths sitting in a basket. Despite the water’s high temperature, one cloth was submerged, moved about, and withdrawn.

It’d been ten ship’s days since Jim had walked out of Spock’s quarters—ten ship’s days since that last heartfelt conversation, ten ship’s days rife with confusion and great difficulty whenever he entered the stillness of his own living space, only to find himself completely lost.

Feeling out of place and restless while alone was new to Jim when he’d always enjoyed solitude and the peace it granted. Now, the quiet that permeated an atmosphere once warmed by contentment and optimism for the future encouraged him to dwell on the past and lament on the present.

Jim had been aware that overthinking was the worst he could do, when the wound was still too fresh and everything was so uncertain.

A ghost wandered at his side about the captain’s quarters. Regardless of his physical absence, Spock’s presence was everywhere within those walls. Jim could still taste him on his tongue, feel the weight of him in his arms, catch his scent on the other pillow no longer in use. He could nearly hear the way Spock softly breathed at night as he did when they slept close…could imagine the way Spock’s lip gently nudged upward into a barely-there micro-expression when their eyes met each morning. Jim had always known the real smile was conveyed by the sparkle between those dark lashes, though.

He also knew now that these were all nothing more than memories of something precious in danger of being lost forever. When Jim was alone and his thoughts went there, there was no escape from being swallowed whole by a toxic maw of misery and loneliness. The feelings wouldn’t abate because he was stuck in limbo.

And he was in limbo because he still had hope.

This wasn’t the first time a rift had come between him and Spock, after all. The third year of the mission had brought with it struggle. Jim’s amnesia and all that unfolded afterward kept them separated just shy of two Terran months. While they eventually overcame the problems stemming from the elongated absence and bizarre occurrence of Jim’s marriage to Miramanee, there’d been obvious difficulties on that road to reestablishing normalcy in their relationship.

There was also another mission toward the end of that third year that ended in severe injury for Jim. He’d spared Spock from a hostile attack by shoving him out of the way and wound up with a machete in his hip. The brash action had caused Spock to believe they were too close and too liable to prioritize each other’s safety; this logic was used when he announced he would withdraw from their union. Days after, Jim in desperation had fallen for Rayna. Within hours, Rayna had died. And Spock had consequently found that there indeed had been love written in his book after all.

In each instance, Jim had given Spock the space and time he needed to reason it all out, and on every occasion, he’d come back. They were better together, stronger professionally and personally.

This time, however, the problem didn’t lie solely between themselves. Sarek and Vulcan culture were outside influences that made the entire situation exponentially more volatile and threatening. Though Jim maintained hope that things would become right between Spock and him again, he wasn’t confident about what the outcome would really be. Having his wrists bound and his eyes blindfolded was the most troubling part of all; everything was entirely out of his control, and for someone who was born for command, faith alone wasn’t the most comforting of friends.

On the first night after that fateful conversation, Jim sat before the half setup chess match that remained on the small table in his quarters, and waited—silently hoped that Spock would meditate on what had transpired as he’d done the last two times, stride through the door connecting their quarters, and fall back into his arms.

An old Terran adage proclaimed, “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it’s yours.” Jim had never believed or understood it, but now that proverb was the only thing he had to hearten him and he wrapped himself up in those words.

What he’d told Spock was true; above all, Jim wanted the best for him and the Enterprise. And though he was unwilling to give up without a fight, Jim was aware that by saying those words, he was once more giving Spock command of the situation. With the decision left entirely to him and no pressure to make it, there was a chance their relationship could be recovered. It might just take some time…or there was the possibility that it could never happen at all.

There was something to be said, though, for having received no official request for leave. If Spock had been entirely sure that going to Vulcan to bond with this person was the right decision, it was only rational to assume that the request would’ve been sent immediately. Yet, it hadn’t been, and Jim took immense comfort in that.

Still, placing total control of his fate in someone else’s hands was something he’d never been comfortable with; even as a lower-ranking officer taking orders, Jim had decisions to make in how he carried out his duties. Now, he found himself lying at Spock’s feet and waiting for either a healing hand or an execution without any idea of which was coming.

‘ _Don’t push. He’s Vulcan_ ,’ Jim had told himself. ‘ _Pressure only makes everything worse. Let him come back to you on his own terms if he’s ready—_ when _he’s ready._ ’ His fingertips had drummed on the tabletop before the chess board. ‘ _He will. He definitely will._ ’

It seemed a logical conclusion. No matter how hard he searched, there was no explanation for the way everything between them ended so suddenly when it’d all been so good. Jim was certain he’d remained attentive with gauging Spock’s comfort level in their relationship, and always concluded that they’d both been more than satisfied with the state of it.

In fact, he’d been sure they both wanted more. He remained convinced this was still true.

Jim had closed his eyes that first night and exhaled, swallowed and then placed his elbows upon the table. Leaning in, he pressed his face unto his hands and stayed like that for some time. Spock would come back. There was no way that this situation could’ve been permanent, not after the way Jim felt those arms tightening around him several mornings ago when they’d been on leave.

Spock _would_ come back.

Night had crept by and soon after, the morning greeted a captain who’d slept just two hours in a hard chair. The next twenty-four hours turned out to be a rerun of the twenty-four that had come before, with two shifts and too much time spent thinking and waiting afterward.

By day three, Jim had recognized that the act of donning his uniform was like outfitting himself in armor; when he was in command, he was in total control of not only the ship, but his thoughts and feelings. It was all too easy to find distraction in the stars, to submerge himself in work and forget about everything else.

But that veneer of strength shed itself as soon as he pulled the tunic from his torso at the end of each final shift. The illusion of augmenting space and silence in his quarters engulfed him in unease. They contained too many memories that threatened to slip away, and the closer he’d tried to hold them as he waited for an answer not guaranteed to come, the more they hurt.

The uncertainty of Spock’s decision made Jim unwilling to officially pronounce their relationship dead. It’d only been five days at that time and there’d still been no official request for leave. He’d convinced himself to simply endure, and believe that as long as the chess match remained on that table, there was still a chance for everything to be made right.

Spock just needed time and room to breathe so he could think clearly.

_If it comes back, it’s yours. Have faith._

However, sitting and waiting quietly every night while going slowly mad was no viable option. Therefore, to spare himself from his own personal hell, Jim had done the only thing he could: he freefell right into the comforting embrace of Delta shift.

McCoy hadn’t been pleased to find three stints per ship’s day assigned to the captain’s name on the schedule, but Jim made sure to give no reason for the power of a CMO veto to be used against him. As long as he kept himself focused on duty, he could look at Spock and primarily see a competent first officer who was instrumental to his team, while drowning the emotional attachment for the greater good. Jim could control his feelings, remain patient, and avoid unnecessary interaction that would only exacerbate his condition.

But now, after everything that had transpired within the last hours, the situation had completely polarized. Jim’s role where Spock was concerned leapt from passive to active, and a million questions, a million possibilities of the future, plagued him.

“ _Do you have an intended, Commander Spock?_ ” asked a voice that haunted Jim’s memory.

“ _At this time, I do not_ ,” replied another ghost.

_Thrum, thrum, thrum, thrum…_

Excess liquid trickled back into the basin as the washcloth was rung out. Jim gave the fabric a hard twist in response to the droning of the monitor, which seemed to berate him for even an inkling of wishful thinking and clinging to words that could have meant nothing at all. The only one who could give him the answers he sought was Spock, and that meant those questions would be left open for the meantime.

Avoiding his reflection in the tiny rectangular mirror, Jim straightened himself before the vanity and then rolled his shoulders with a grunt. His back ached from sitting on the same stool with no support for hours, but his own pain was the last thing on his mind.

There were less than four steps to walk across the small recovery room before Jim stood at the side of the bed. He clutched the damp rag with both hands and cocked his head, peering down solemnly through long eyelashes and then lowering himself back onto his seat.

He leaned forward and began to tenderly dab the cloth at Spock’s face. Jim started with his forehead; he pushed the neat line of heavy bangs back, and then ran it down the far cheek. He followed the same trail he’d taken countless times with his lips—carefully brushing over Spock’s closed eyes, then traveling down his nose and across his mouth.

 

 

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/ljxKZGl.png)

(This lovely art is by the amazing [Johix](http://johix.tumblr.com/)!!)

Jim paused to study that mouth. Though he’d starved the last ten days for it, the taste of its kiss was still fresh in his mind and he wondered if it would be much longer before their lips met again. After he stared ardently at it for what he deemed too long, Jim’s expression hardened and he roughly shoved his stool away from the bed. He rose to his feet and disposed of the cloth in the laundry chute, then went to the narrow side closet and began rummaging through the drawers.

Behind him, he heard the main door slide open. There was a pause before McCoy quietly asked, “Jim?”

Without looking back, Jim procured the blanket he’d sought and grasped one end, allowing it to fall undone on its own. “Doctor.” When it was completely unfolded, Jim turned and raised his eyes to find McCoy’s locked on him. He recognized their concern but didn’t address it; he knew he looked like hell. Dismissively, Jim tossed the cover above Spock’s dormant frame and let it float down over him.

“You’re still here,” McCoy stated.

“It’s cold,” Jim offered with indifference, beginning to tuck the edges in. He was aware his response to that observation made no sense, but felt an impulse to explain his actions before they were misinterpreted as something more. Out of sight, Jim furrowed his brow and realized the only one who required convincing of that was himself.

“How many hours has it been now? Seven? Eight?” The usual harshness that might’ve been present in such a statement wasn’t there; in fact, McCoy’s voice had a tinge of uncharacteristic gentleness to it. If this were any other time, Jim was sure he’d have been berated and possibly even pulled out of the room by the ear. “When I said you were off duty, I didn’t mean _stay at Spock’s bedside all ship’s day_.”

“If you think I’ve only been sitting here doing nothing, you’re wrong.” The words had skated too close to being unintentionally snappish. Jim’s stature relaxed slightly to make up for it and he reached for the PADD he placed on the small side table earlier. His tone softened as he shook it in McCoy’s direction. “I wrote the first draft of the report.”

Silently, McCoy studied the device and then looked back at Jim. The biobed remained the only sound in the room for the next few awkward seconds.

After letting his gaze drop pensively to the floor, it soon wandered up and then McCoy drew a deep breath. “That’s gonna cause one hell of a shakeup, Jim.”

“Good,” Jim said curtly and placed the PADD back down with a loud tap. He whirled back to the closet and closed the door, keeping his hand pressed to it and barely turning his face. “That’s exactly what I want because it’s on _me_ to make sure this never happens again.”

Jim wasn’t sure how to interpret the hum he received in reply, and the energy to ask for clarification wasn’t in him. He pressed his palms to his eyes and rubbed them in small circles—remembered that of all people, McCoy was certainly not an enemy and that exhaustion was now definitely taking its toll. Jim inhaled sharply and pivoted to face his friend, dropping his hands as he did. With a shake of his head, he added, “It was totally preventable.”

“I’m aware of that. We all are.” McCoy’s arms crossed tightly before his chest. He shifted his weight to one leg and then evenly distributed it over both again. “Are _you_ aware it’s not your fault?”

“I know.” Jim’s reply came perhaps too quickly and he began rotating his sore shoulders to loosen the muscles. “I’m not wallowing in guilt, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

A brow raised in response to that.

“What?”

“Actually, what I’m thinking is that you need to get out of this room, Jim, and get some sleep.” McCoy diverted his gaze to Spock’s vitals with a small squint and nodded his head in the panel’s direction. “You know, he’s not the only one who’s been through too much in the last two days.”

Jim closed his eyes and raised a hand to his neck, giving it a stiff rub. There was no arguing with that; from the way his entire body hurt, it felt like he’d hauled a boulder on his back for a month. But it was more than physical discomfort; all that had happened left his nerves frayed and further gashed a wound that he willingly kept open.

The memories of recent events were too tangible…Jim could still taste the dampness on his tongue, feel the chills racking his frame and Spock shivering in his arms. He felt so far removed here, surrounded by white walls and medical equipment. The contrast between the two realities was harsh, but the crew was safe, and so was Jim—from anything and anyone except himself for as long as he allowed the same scar to bleed.

When too much time passed without a reply, McCoy approached Jim and gently pressed a hand to his shoulder. “He’s not waking up any time soon. Rest, Jim. You need it.”

Jim’s cheeks puffed as he blew out a breath. “All right.”

“If anything changes with Spock’s condition, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Reaching for his PADD, Jim picked it up and began walking toward the door.

“Oh, and Jim…”

Stopping in his tracks, Jim looked over his shoulder and his eyes met McCoy’s.

“Look, uh.” McCoy’s hands folded behind his back. “If you need anything at all…a little conversation, some brandy…”

Jim’s lips eased upward into a tiny smile. “Thanks, Bones.”

And with that, the captain took his leave.

The door slid to the side, granting Jim access to dim and cool quarters. He neglected adjusting the environmental controls, instead placing the PADD on his desk and then walking straight to the foot of his bed.

He reached for his boots, unzipping and kicking them off without caring where they landed. Then, still fully clothed, he flopped backward against the mattress and closed his eyes, feeling the bed quivering from his movements until it stilled once more.

The Enterprise had always been comfortable. It emanated a constant, low background hum that could quickly be ignored unless one wanted to hear it. Jim had always enjoyed the company, always liked listening to how his ship sounded as it sailed over the fabric of space. But now, fresh memories ensured he heard and saw much more than that.

The slamming of a phantom metal door rang out in his mind, followed by the jingling of keys and heavy footsteps hitting stone. It was cold and damp there—dark. And then the memory of choppy breaths falling from trembling lips came back, the feeling of shivering that was both his and not his own.

Jim’s eyes snapped open and he launched himself onto his feet, unable to simply remain lying around with such injustice weighing so heavily on his mind. It was his responsibility now to ensure there were changes among the Starfleet brass so that no one—no fellow captain or crewmember—would ever go through what he and his own had endured.

Striding over to the work area, Jim flopped onto his chair and grabbed his PADD. He brought up the first draft of the report he’d written to document the incident and his face tightened at the cadence of his words. They were so formal and stiff, too clinical to clearly convey what had actually transpired.

The device was dropped on his desk and Jim leaned back in his seat. With a heavy sigh, he raised his palms to his face, rubbed his eyes and then lowered them. His fingers latticed across his lap and he raised his chin toward the ceiling.

“Computer,” Jim commanded. “Begin recording. Encryption level one, clearance code omega-five-three-three-nine-one-Kirk. Access control: retina and thumbprint scan.”

“ _Encryption level one. Captain James T. Kirk, identity confirmed. Retina key activated. Thumbprint key activated. Recording_.”

Jim inhaled through his nose and his tongue poked out to wet his lips before he began. “Captain’s personal log.” He expelled his breath and continued in a formal tone. “This is a private journal entry, if only so that I may gather the facts in full and express myself without censorship.”

With his eyes half-lidded, he peered downward and unconsciously reached for a stylus that had been neatly stowed to the side of his desk. Jim picked it up and began tapping it on the surface. His brows raised and he quietly huffed. “I have a lot to say…a lot to straighten out before I do what I’m planning to do.”

His lips pulled in as he observed himself still tapping the stylus, as if that hand hadn’t belonged to him. Jim discarded the apparatus on the desk then and ignored it as it rolled dangerously close to the edge. He took one last deep breath, leaned back into his chair, and closed his eyes.

“We all knew Gantir would be trouble, that the mission couldn’t have been as easy as it was presented to us. And because of that, we thought, more or less, that we’d be ready for anything. Heh…” Jim paused, shaking his head. His voice lowered as the formality left him and his lashes parted. He stared at the chess set on the table directly across from him. “…We didn’t. I knew from the exact moment he materialized on our transporter pad that something was off.”

He nodded slowly. “And…after the warnings fell on deaf ears and our safety was outright ignored in exchange for…what.” A pause. “Greed? Power?—I don’t even know anymore. In any case, it was once again apparent that my intuition is never wrong.”

“I honestly don’t know what’s been happening at HQ. Maybe the…culture there is changing, who knows. It’s been so long since I’ve set foot in San Francisco.” Jim’s hands tightened. “But I will say this. Once this report gets out, our earthbound overlords are going to be held accountable for their actions. And if I have it my way, no one is _ever_ going to be permitted to singularly ignore the concerns expressed by the captain of any vessel again.”

_Forty-Eight Hours Ago_

The last time when Jim had donned his formal uniform, slender Vulcan hands carefully fastened the medals to his breast and smoothed the silken material over his shoulders. On this occasion, the responsibility fell to himself. While attempting to affix his first decoration, Jim managed to prick the skin over his heart with the pin. Fitting that he should stab himself there, he noted, and proceeded with more caution. Minutes later, he was out the door.

Tension filled the transporter room. It was quiet and stuffy—uncomfortable from the formality set by the requirement of dress attire. More than that, the atmosphere was heavy with awkwardness that weighed down specifically on the captain and had him feeling clammy beneath his silk garments.

As the years of his command passed, touch had grown increasingly important to Jim; it’d come to serve as covert communication on the bridge and a tiny reward when affection couldn’t be expressed openly. A warm hand landing on Spock’s shoulder indicated all would be well during times of distress. Fingertips trailing over Jim’s back while he sat in his chair conveyed Spock wanted his company.

Even now, the absence of it spoke. The captain and first officer stood side-by-side—so close and yet so far from space dividing their elbows. Jim’s expression was serious as he kept his eyes locked on the transporter platform.

On the other side of Spock, McCoy coughed to break the silence. When no one spoke afterward, he mumbled, “He sure is takin’ his time…”

Jim pulled his lips in and then glanced over his shoulder to Scotty and Lieutenant Tracey, standing behind the console. “Anything?”

Scotty shook his head. “Not yet, Sir. I wouldn’t even be able to tell you if he’s in the transporter bay down there or not.” The outer corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted. “They’ve buttoned up the entire transport frequency band with rotating encryption.”

Jim hummed and unceremoniously raised a brow. “Not surprising.”

McCoy leaned backward, tilting his head behind Spock so he could look at Jim. “What in the hell is the point of that?”

“Security protocol,” Jim replied flatly and then waited, offering a silent invitation. At a time like this, his logical first officer would typically take the opportunity to weigh in with some technical babble, but it seemed he was more intent on standing perfectly still than even considering the thought of joining non-essential conversation.

Jim’s eyes closed for a moment—long enough to push the thought out of his mind—and he fell out of line to avoid speaking across Spock. “They flood the major transporter frequencies with noise over a protected location. When they want to activate it, a special algorithm is used to clear the band for just enough time to perform the transport. It allows them limited control of who’s coming in and full control of who’s going out.”

“Aye,” Scotty chimed in. “There’s no reason why someone determined enough couldn’t just crack the encryption and beam in real quick before the algorithm changes again.” He tilted his head for a moment and raised his brows. “That’s if they knew exactly where they were going without a sensor sweep, of course. Wouldn’t want to materialize inside a wall.”

Scotty’s fingertips drummed on a side panel and his eyes narrowed as he gazed off into nothing and slowly nodded. “But the whole gettin’ out without using their transporter pad…now, that’s the trouble. All major communication signals fall within the protected band and would simply dissipate into the noise. There’d be nothing to lock onto.”

Jim thoughtfully stared at the top of the console, but he didn’t say anything. It was true. Staying in orbit long enough to analyze the spectrum and hack it was simple, but establishing or maintaining a lock on a party would be impossible while utilizing communicators. However…

“Enhanced transporter security.” McCoy crossed his arms and unintentionally derailed Jim’s pensive state. “And this is something we haven’t implemented because…?”

“What we have onboard is sufficient,” Jim replied. “Traveling around with that level of paranoia is like keeping the ship on red alert with the shields raised at all times. It doesn’t look good if you’re looking to make friends.”

“Sounds great to me!” McCoy hummed. “If you’ll remember, not every _friend_ we meet is so friendly.”

“We’re not at war,” Jim pressed. “Gantir is and has been for over sixty years. Ruling magistrates don’t exactly last a long time there.” He glanced to the ceiling. “I can’t really blame them for wanting to manage who’s materializing around the capital.”

“Well, that’s sensible. Though I gotta tell ya again, Jim…somethin’ just doesn’t seem right about all this,” McCoy said, slouching and resting his forearm on the console. “There’s been no indication that violence died down at all. In fact, it seems it’s only increasing, what with all this news of supply ships bein’ commandeered by pirates in this region.” He frowned. “And here we have this ambassador tellin’ us everything’s all good and that a couple signatures on a document is what it’ll take to usher in peace.”

“And for what it’s worth again, Bones, I share your concern.” Jim huffed. “Orders are orders, however, and Komack isn’t about to be swayed this time. He needs a diplomat.” He paused to pull his mouth to one side, before finishing that thought in a deeper, quieter voice. “And I’m the closest one he’s got.”

A chime rang out from the console. “Ah, Sir!” Scotty spoke up. “We received communication from the surface. He’s ready.”

“Positions,” Jim commanded. McCoy stepped back up next to Spock and Scotty took his place at the doctor’s side. “Lieutenant Tracey, execute transport on their mark.”

“Three-way handshake in progress, Sir. And…transporting now.”

As Tracey’s fingertips danced over the controls, Scotty raised a small, slender pipe to his lips. An iridescent sheen of sparkling pastels appeared over one circular pad while the bosun whistle rang out, forming the shape of a biped.

Blue antennae twitching and eyes as dark as space itself focusing on Jim signaled the end of the transport process—and the beginning of the Enterprise’s active involvement with Gantir.

“Ambassador ch’Vralla,” Jim spoke as he took one step forward to single himself out. The man clad in figure-fitting ornate clothing of onyx stood still, silver trim lining the edges of his suit jacket shimmering in the overhead light. “As captain of this vessel, it is my utmost honor to receive you on behalf of the United Federation of Planets and my crew. I graciously welcome you aboard the starship Enterprise.”

ch’Vralla’s eyes bore through Jim, then raised quickly to assess the others in the room. At last, the right corner of his mouth twitched into what Jim recognized as an oddly arrogant smirk, and he shook his head out before descending the two stairs. The small messenger bag slung diagonally across his body bounced with his approach.

The ambassador was a handsome, stylish man—forty-something and carrying himself with the charisma of a new cadet. Fine lines from stress had been worn into his forehead and about his eyes, but there was a youthful feeling to his presence. Wispy white bangs flowing into shoulder-length hair that curled at the tips framed his face of powdery blue. An almost magical aura of soft hazy color glowed about him, betrayed only by brows dyed black to match the darkness of his lashes and eyes.

Jim walked another pace forward. “I’m Captain James Kirk.”

ch’Vralla commanded respect as he lifted his chin and barely cocked his head, never taking his gaze from Jim. “Captain Kirk,” he repeated, his voice deep and sensual—charming. A blue hand, adorned by multiple silver rings about the fingers, lifted and Jim took it. “By all means, the honor is mine. Your reputation precedes you.”

Jim gave his hand a stiff shake, addressing the praise with only a cordial smile and then pulled away in a half pivot. “Allow me to introduce you to my senior staff.” He held an open palm to the three standing behind him. “My First Officer, Commander Spock. Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy. Chief Engineering Officer, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott.”

“Ah, yes.” ch’Vralla’s long lashes fell slightly as he stepped up to Spock. “Commander Spock, son of the esteemed Ambassador Sarek.” He lifted his hand in the customary ta’al. “Diftor heh smusma.”

Spock returned the gesture. “Welcome aboard, Ambassador.”

“I trust…” ch’Vralla’s voice turned cool as he tilted his head, “you harbor no ill will toward me.”

“The tensions between Andoria and Vulcan have been settled long ago,” Spock replied. His voice and demeanor were unwavering. “Our interest in the succession of this affair is mutual.”

ch’Vralla blinked and remained silent for a moment, as though he hadn't expected that response. Before long, his naturally pouty lips pulled outward into a smile and he chuckled. “Of course, of course. Forgive me for that, it’s just…” There was a pause and he shifted focus. “You’re just as I imagined you…a picture of your father. You even speak like him.”

Jim’s brow quirked at that. He’d received plenty of ambassadors in his time and naturally, each had their own mannerisms. Something about ch’Vralla troubled him, however—a feeling, deep in his gut that had him experiencing a sudden upheaval of distrust. This exchange was much too mellow.

Ambassadors often had a flair for showy attire, and while ch’Vralla’s suit certainly looked expensive, there was a casual style to it. It complemented the easygoingness he radiated, which seemed out of place for someone who’d been over their head in conflict for months. He’d been late to beam up, carried one small bag only large enough to hold a PADD, and stood with a comfortable slouch.

ch’Vralla was so relaxed that it seemed this wasn’t the first time they’d all met—relaxed enough to even bring up family ties to Spock in the same breath of a greeting. Sarek had always been a sore point, for more reasons than recent personal issues. And though Spock showed no outward indication that he was uncomfortable, Jim knew he was.

With the intention of moving the conversation away from the topic of Sarek, Jim opened his mouth. Before he spoke however, ch’Vralla commented, “Delightful,” and floated toward the other two.

“Lieutenant Commander McCoy.” A gracious nod.

“ _Doctor_ alone will do, Ambassador,” McCoy replied cordially and his shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. “Lieutenant Commander’s an awful mouthful.”

ch’Vralla exhaled from his nose and gave a nod as he shook his hand. “ _Doctor_ McCoy.”

“It’s a great pleasure, Sir.”

Finally, ch’Vralla reached for Scotty’s. “And Lieutenant Commander Scott.” His brows lifted. “ _Chief_ Engineer.”

Having the ability to perfectly recite their names and ranks after one introduction was an impressive talent, Jim noted. It indicated that ch’Vralla had an excellent memory or had done his research—or both.

“Welcome aboard the finest ship in the fleet, Ambassador,” Scotty greeted with a smile.

“Yes, she is a fine ship, is she not?” ch’Vralla announced, glancing around him as he slowly walked back across the short line of men. “With a fine crew.” His eyes landed on Jim and blinked several times before adding, “…And a fine captain.” The magnetism in his gaze intensified and his voice spilled forth with the texture of velvet. “I must confess that I am… _partial_ to the finer things in life.”

“I’m certain you’ll enjoy the dinner my chef is preparing in your honor, then,” Jim replied, slightly stiffer than he’d intended. “Won’t you join us?”

“You ask as though I’d decline.”

“Perfect.” That settled that. “It’s customary to offer a tour of the ship.” Jim held his palm in Scotty’s direction. “I’ve arranged for Lieutenant Commander Scott to provide one, though I believe we should get right down to business with what limited time we have.”

A blue hand touched the one Jim had raised, lingering long enough to draw Jim’s attention before it slipped off. “Captain, with all due respect to the Lieutenant Commander, I agree,” ch’Vralla began, his gaze fixed on Scotty before returning to Jim. “I’d prefer to skip the tour and spend as much time as possible with you and Commander Spock.” His attention turned back to Scotty. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you? Time is of the essence and there’s so much to discuss.”

“Of course, Ambassador,” Scotty replied. “Perhaps after the treaty is signed?”

ch’Vralla’s mouth twitched at the corners and his tone softened. “Perhaps.”

Jim nodded. “In that case, Ambassador, if you’ll follow me…” He looked to Spock. “Commander.”

As Jim led them out of the transporter room, McCoy and Scotty remained behind and silently exchanged a glance.

Outfitted with touches of cosmic glamor, the Enterprise formal dining room was style and grace in a sleek package. The room comfortably fit ten mingling guests and was still small enough to create a private, intimate environment.

Off to the left of the entrance stood an impressive bar, adorned by polished bottles shaped with intricate designs and a glowing countertop. The soft overhead accent lighting caught the rows of various liquors, casting rainbows of color on the back mirror and over gleaming surfaces. The wall opposite the bar was lined with large windows, now filled with the view of Gantir and its giant swirling clouds. In the distance, artificial satellites constructed for docking and storage glimmered along with visiting supply ships.

Even with the excess of fancy decor and embellishments, the focal point of the space was a rectangular glass table in the center. Jim pulled out a white chair with a high back at the far end. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you, Captain,” ch’Vralla spoke over a breath. He shrugged the messenger bag off and his fingers danced down the buttons of his suit jacket, undoing them. The garment slid down to his elbows and he turned his face. With his chin pressing to his shoulder, ch’Vralla looked at Jim through half-lidded eyes. “Would you take this?”

Jim offered a cordial nod, reaching for the jacket and sliding it free from ch’Vralla’s arms. Draping it over one of his own, he pushed the chair in as ch’Vralla sat and then motioned for Spock to do the same, before walking toward a line of coat hooks in the corner. “Can I fix you a drink, Ambassador?”

“Please,” ch’Vralla replied, sweeping invisible dust off his thighs once he settled down.

After hanging the garment, Jim proceeded directly to the bar. “Is there something you’d like in particular?”

“Anything will do for now.”

“You have no preference, Ambassador?” Spock asked. As Jim reached for two long-stemmed flute glasses from the overhead rack, his eyes drifted down to the table.

ch’Vralla raised a hand and brushed his long bangs aside. From the grin spreading across his face, it appeared the question amused him. “Something wrong with that response, Commander?”

“No. Though, I have frequently observed that no particular preference for alcohol is often indicative. Are you concerned about the treaty signing?”

Jim remained silent and continued his task. Spock certainly wasted no time in cutting straight through the fluff, and he was justified in doing so with how this mission hadn’t sat right with anyone. Jim would’ve done the same, if their positions in the room were reversed—and while it was the last thing on his mind now, it was subconsciously comforting to know that despite everything, they still meshed together flawlessly as a command team. That was what counted most.

“Concerned,” ch’Vralla repeated flatly as the jovial expression wiped off his face. His brow furrowed slightly and he shook his head, seriousness overcoming him. “No. No, I wouldn’t say it’s that. It’s more a feeling of…” His statement drifted off along with his attention for a beat. After momentarily glancing at the wall behind Spock, he then continued, “...subdued excitement, perhaps? Or _relief_ , that such an unthinkable conflict will finally be resolved, and soon.”

Jim tapped a code into the synthesizer beneath the surface, and as the order materialized, he finally spoke up. “I’d like to properly take the time to tell you I’m impressed, Ambassador.”

ch’Vralla’s gaze floated over to him.

“It’s not that I don’t have utmost faith in your abilities…quite the contrary, for sure.” Jim removed a small silver tray and set it atop the bar as he went on. Upon the tray, he placed the two glasses he’d taken down earlier, now filled with pale blue liquor, and then reached below to add a fine china cup and saucer bearing the Federation emblem. “However, I was very surprised to learn that Starfleet approved sending only one person to orchestrate the talks—and that one person alone was able to achieve what countless others failed to do for years. How did you manage it?”

“Ah.” ch’Vralla tilted his chin up and opened his mouth, but said nothing further; he merely observed while Jim returned to the table and placed the tray down.

“Andorian pale ale,” Jim announced, putting one flute glass before the ambassador. He then placed the cup filled with spiced tea in front of Spock and the other drink before his own seat at the head of the table.

ch’Vralla nodded while Jim slipped into his chair, and then reached for the dainty stem. “Captain…” he began, his eyes on the thin column between his fingertips before they raised to Jim again. “A question, if I might. Do you not have serving staff aboard this ship?”

“Of course. Every constitution class starship does.”

“Then…why are _you_ the one serving the cocktails?” ch’Vralla’s brows raised and he shot off a knowing look.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Jim’s mouth when he saw it. “…I see.”

“I’m glad,” ch’Vralla said and his face relaxed once more with a pleasant grin. “We all have our own ways of working, and thinking. I was fortunate enough to convince the powers that be for allowance to handle Gantir in my own way. That entailed a solitary effort, until now.” He held his drink up. “I believe the customary word here is…cheers?”

Jim clinked his glass with ch’Vralla’s and then Spock’s teacup. The liquor was an odd mix of floral and fruit with an aftertaste that left the back of Jim’s throat burning; he withheld his habitual first-sip scowl in favor of proper manners.

A contented hum left ch’Vralla’s lips. “Pale ale,” he breathed. “It’s been a long time. I appreciate you going through the trouble of finding out what a homesick Andorian wants most. …Though, it seems Commander Spock is not fond of alcohol.”

“It is not meant as an insult, Ambassador. I do not typically indulge,” Spock replied, gently lowering his teacup back to the saucer.

“None taken. I respect that.” ch’Vralla took another sip, and immediately switched his attention to Jim. “And how nice it is for a commanding officer to know _his_ first officer so well. You’ve served together for how long now? Four years and some odd months?”

Jim’s lips twitched. “Ambassadors always do their homework.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled from the back of ch’Vralla’s mouth and he put his glass down. “It’s my duty to stick my nose in everything that has to do with the mission. Of course, I studied your files before making my request.”

“Request?” Spock echoed as the smile Jim wore receded.

Leaning back in his chair, ch’Vralla tossed his head to the side, long silky hair moving about his shoulder with the motion. His arms crossed before his lean chest. “Oh, yes. I specifically requested the Enterprise—specifically the two of you.”

There was no transition from gracious host to captain-on-the-bridge as Jim’s voice turned immediately serious. “I wasn’t informed of that.”

“Ah.” A huff fell. “Oversight on the admiral’s part, perhaps.”

“And in the classified documents as well?”

ch’Vralla simply shook his head, as if the action would excuse him from elaborating. “Surely you can understand why I at least needed _you_ , Captain.”

“No, I’m afraid I’m not making the connection. And forgive my directness, Ambassador.” Jim tilted his face. “But I’ve spent countless hours reviewing every last detail and yet, I suddenly feel I don’t have the full picture anymore. I wouldn’t say that’s the best way to begin working together.”

“Then let’s take the first step. It’s Andev,” ch’Vralla said. “I prefer to be on a first name basis.” His fingertips toyed with the stem of the glass once more. “I find taking unnecessary formality out of the equation also takes the unnecessary edge off.” His lashes batted. “May I call you James?”

It was an uncomfortable and unexpected proposition but for the sake of ease, Jim went along with it. “It’s Jim.” He latticed his fingers over the table and immediately refocused. “I was given the understanding that any ship could’ve filled in for the absence of the Lexington. Is this not the case?”

ch’Vralla hummed and stood. As Jim and Spock began to rise in unison, he held a hand out to stop them both. “Please, don’t stand on my account. I spend my life at tables just like this one and prefer to pace when I have the liberty to.”

“I made no request for anything to be withheld from you, but you understand how things can get lost in red tape, especially over the parsecs…” Wringing his slender hands, ch’Vralla stepped up to the window and turned to face them. “You’ve been specifically requested because I need a command team who knows and trusts each other deeply. The reputation you’ve both built for yourselves is known across the quadrant.”

“Ambassador…” Jim started, but then forced a smile as he corrected himself. “Andev. I’m flattered, but I think whatever you’ve heard has been exaggerated. Commander Spock and I are no different from any other command team in Starfleet. Every ship—”

“—does not have the dynamic you possess,” ch’Vralla interrupted. He lifted a hand parallel to his jaw with fingers clenched in a fist. His pointer digit shot up. “The spores on Omicron Ceti III were enough to trick temporary settlers into remaining there permanently—enough to have your entire crew under the same influence. But you both overcame that.”

Jim’s shoulders touched the back of his seat.

ch’Vralla raised his chin, letting his gaze wander off to the side of the room. “The time travel incident that sent you back centuries in the past, had you living together in an era without technology, and yet you not only survived but prevailed.” He looked directly at Spock. “I’m aware the Vulcan digestive system requires a very specific diet. It appears your captain was, too, since he knew what to buy at the market.” ch’Vralla turned his attention to Jim. “Then, during transport to Babel with the commander’s parents, when you—”

“All right.” Jim cut him off and stood. “What’s the point of all this?”

“The point is that I need reliability and loyalty, certain experience and a seamless team. And that is what you both provide.” ch’Vralla placed his hands on his hips, his tone becoming grave. “The Gantirian conflict is a planet-wide disaster. So little of what’s really happening down there is known to Starfleet. Sure, the reports come in, but do you think anyone actually reads them?”

He turned toward the large window and laced his fingers behind his back. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. No one can grasp the reality by reading words in a document, no matter how colorful they may have been written.”

“That’s often the case.” Jim stepped up to ch’Vralla’s side, and Spock shadowed the movement at Jim’s. “But I’m listening to you now, Ambassador, if you’d tell me the real story and explain why we’re so important to you.”

There was a pause. “Of course. As you already know, it’s the age-old conflict of conquer and forced relocation, of the rich exploiting the poor. The Marai are planet-dwellers. The Aella once lived on the moon.” ch’Vralla dipped his chin, speaking plainly. “The Marai discovered that moon was rich in precious resources. A war broke out. Naturally, the Aella lost, resulting in the introduction of millions relocated to planet-side cities already too crowded.”

Jim studied the ambassador’s profile as he went on. The casual tone returned as he droned over the details.

“Racial tensions grew exponentially worse. The Marai leaders called for patience, promising that everyone would eventually share the spoils of the resources. That their world would become relevant and powerful, that everyone would one day be educated and always have enough to eat. They promised things that could never be, but the masses didn’t know any better. They believed those words, trusted them. And then, the six-year mega drought hit.”

ch’Vralla slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, still not taking his attention away from the planet.

“Mass inflation and panic followed. The social system came undone at the seams. Once the situation reached critical, the rich and privileged fled to the moon. They abandoned those who were promised reward for their tolerance, leaving them to fend for themselves while the world starved and descended into chaos. However, it quickly became apparent that the moon itself was too small to be sustainable for long. With wealth no longer a protection, the rich fought amongst themselves for the right to remain on the lunar colonies. It was no longer about drawing lines between races but the factions within each, all struggling for basic survival. In other words, anarchy.”

Jim nodded and crossed his arms, the view of Gantir pulling his gaze out the window. These details were difficult to hear because of the memories they inspired within him, and especially since none of this information was new; he’d scoured reports and historical documents during the journey here while swallowing the uncomfortable parallels of a very similar hell he’d lived through.

That’s when Jim made the connection of why ch’Vralla had requested him and a sinking feeling set in. He remained quiet, listening to the recount of the crisis and telling himself he was thinking too deeply into it.

“And that’s how it’s become a bitter, bloody battle of the haves versus the have nots. Of course, you can read all about that through years and years of reports. As you have,” ch’Vralla continued. “But what those reports don’t convey is how cheap a commodity life is on that planet. Violence and murder are rampant. Innocent people have been starving, displaced, homeless—dying. _Children_ are being recruited as soldiers.”

ch’Vralla’s hands slipped out of his pockets and tightened. “There’s been a total social breakdown with no discrimination. Whatever age, whatever gender. No one is spared, and no one is safe. …Can you imagine, Captain?”

Jim stared out the window in total silence, dismissing that inquiry as nothing more than rhetoric; he had no intention of answering.

“You noted your surprise that I approached this mission on my own with no help. I wasn’t offended. It’s a valid question that any inquisitive person with even half a mind would ask. Why would someone volunteer for this? It doesn’t make sense. But, Jim.”

ch’Vralla pivoted on the soles of his dress shoes and turned, finding Spock watching him with a severe gaze. When nothing further was said, Jim finally tore his eyes from the view and met the ambassador’s.

Blue antennae twitched. “If you had the chance to make Tarsus IV right, would you?”

The inquiry was a direct punch to the gut and Jim responded in kind. “What the hell kind of question is that?!”

“Captain—”

“ _Commander_.”

“Gentlemen.” ch’Vralla shook his head, huffing a breath through his nostrils and casually raising his palms up and out. “I understand it’s upsetting and _that’s_ why I need you. You,” he pointed at Jim, “have the experience that will help me. But that’s not all. You also know what he wants to drink without even asking him. And you,” a nod toward to Spock, “know of your captain’s past. You trust each other, know each other, communicate without even talking. I _need_ that dynamic. And more than ever, I need you both.”

“I fail to see why _any_ of that is important when there’s a peace treaty already waiting to be signed,” Jim snapped. “Is that not the case?”

“You saw the drafted document yourself.”

“Then what does any of this have to do with—”

“Like you, Tarsus IV shaped my life. My mother was murdered on the colony,” ch’Vralla said and cast his gaze out the window again. “It happened in a brutal way. I was close to her.”

Jim clenched his jaw and just as he was about to retort, ch’Vralla continued.

“You see, family is everything to Andorians. And I watched _my_ family suffer and struggle. My father, my little brother. I was even supposed to have a little sister, but pregnancy apparently meant nothing to the governor.” ch’Vralla shook his head. “The absence of my mother left a void widened by inheritance disputes with distant relatives and who was entitled to what. It left us deeply in debt.” A shrug. “My father couldn’t cope. He was institutionalized, and my brother…” He left that thought hanging and then looked at Jim.

“My mother’s death was the reason I chose this work…so that no child should ever have their life destroyed because of the mindset of a radical.” Clasping his hands tightly, ch’Vralla tilted his head back. “Gantir is Tarsus IV on a planetary scale, Jim. I volunteered for this mission because I knew I was the only one who could succeed in ending the crisis. And I requested you because I knew you would understand.”

Jim’s eyes burned a hole through that the ambassador. Red alerts had been blaring in the back of his head from the moment ch’Vralla materialized on the transporter pad, and the severity of his intuition continued at a steady exponential increase the more that time passed in his company.

He spoke in tongues. He used his charm and appeal in ways that left a bad taste in the mouth. Despite good looks and an outgoing nature, the way ch’Vralla danced circles around conversations made communication difficult and the ability to freely trust him even harder. And now, he was preying upon Jim’s own pain.

“Because…of what you _think_ you know,” Jim finally said. “Were you even there?”

“I didn’t have to be to recognize a round table of diplomats would’ve done nothing to stop Kodos. In fact, it would’ve only delayed the inevitable. Starfleet once again sees this situation as a commercial trade issue, when it’s actually a matter of life or death for these people—a _humanitarian_ issue, as it was once called on your Earth.” ch’Vralla pivoted, turning away from the view and looking Jim directly in the eyes. “Sometimes, nothing gets accomplished when too many get involved. It’s difficult to establish trust, build rapport.”

Jim chose to withhold commenting on the irony of that statement.

ch’Vralla huffed out of his nose. “The Federation has been actively trying to cultivate peace on this world for well over two decades now. With each attempt, they send an entourage of ambassadors armed with false promises and dreams to sell to innocent people who are dying right before their eyes. I decided on a different approach and now, there’s an agreement waiting for signatures.” He stared back, matching the sternness thrown at him. “Is it not worth the effort of at least _trying_ to accept a difference in methodology?”

Silence persisted for several tense moments before Jim held his hand out to the table. “It is,” he replied. “Let’s talk. And let’s start from the beginning.” They sat back down. “If we’re going to work together effectively, we need _reliability and loyalty_ , which calls for transparency and truthfulness.”

“Very well.” ch’Vralla nodded. “Let’s start here. I saw the questions in both your eyes when I mentioned Ambassador Sarek earlier. How do I know him? Why am I of his acquaintance?” He braced his fingertips upon the table. “Sarek was my mentor. We had a close relationship, he and I. However, our friendship dissolved when Gantir divided us.”

Jim sat with his back perfectly straight, and listened carefully.

“He supported the traditional approach. I, however, knew that another pretty package of selfish demands disguised as gifts would once again fail these people. And with a history of failures, I was able to convince the Federation to switch up the game plan. I couldn’t do this without embarrassing him and burning the bridge between us.”

“Excuse my bluntness,” Jim cut in, “but you can’t embarrass a Vulcan.”

“Perhaps not, but damage is certainly caused when you make their proposal look illogical and uneducated.” ch’Vralla reached for his drink and slid it closer, but simply let his eyes wander to Spock. “No offense.”

Spock’s expression remained deadpan. “I have no ego to bruise.”

“I’ve been long interested in meeting you, Commander, what with learning so much about you through the years. But once the rift between your father and I had been made, I second-guessed my thought to request your presence here. However, there were other parts of the equation that couldn’t be overlooked.” ch’Vralla’s hand slipped from the glass stem and he drummed his fingertips on the table.

“The ambassador’s affairs are his own,” Spock replied. “I am not involved in or privy to them, nor do I allow his business to affect my neutrality.”

“After reviewing your personnel file and thinking hard on it, I believed that to be the case and I’m pleased I was correct. My inquiry to you about ill will had nothing to do with the war between our planets, but if Sarek had spoken negatively of me to you.” ch’Vralla dismissively shook his hair out. “Gentlemen, with all that being said, there are people waiting to sign a document to end the war right now. However, this is where you come in. Further negotiation with the Federation will be necessary if they are to agree to it.”

Jim had placed his elbow on the table and rested the side of his thumb against his lips. He pulled it away now. “ _Further_ negotiation?”

“For increased support,” ch’Vralla clarified. “Aid. Protection of assets. Acknowledgement that Gantirian life is more important than trade, if only for a show of good will.”

Shaking his head, Jim’s hand fell open-palmed toward the ceiling in a casual motion. “And does Komack know there’s going to be further demands? Because as far as I’m aware, everyone at HQ believes Gantir is already a done deal just waiting to be made official in documentation.”

ch’Vralla’s mouth twitched into a momentary purse. “He’s aware that more discussion is needed. And compromise.”

Spock’s brow raised.

“Don’t be mistaken. I’ve promised to end this war and the suffering, and I can—all while making the Federation’s dreams of reopening the trade route come true. But if we’re to succeed, it needs to be done my way.” With total sincerity, ch’Vralla continued, “That means I need the two of you to accompany me, alone.”

Jim shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ambassador, but that’s out of the question.”

Spock was quick to offer support for the immediate refusal. “Such a request violates every diplomatic protocol. Section thirty, article two-hundred and twenty-nine specifically mandates that—”

The sound of blue fists loudly pounding the table stopped Spock mid-sentence. “Commander, don’t sit there quoting regulations to me like your father did! Hordes of foreign representatives arriving in the name of peace doesn’t make sense to these people. They don’t know who they can really trust. But they do know why the Federation is interested in _helping_ them. They’re not stupid.”

“So, you propose that we beam down with you—just the two of us,” Jim flipped his hand back and forth between Spock and himself, “unarmed, I presume, and that the less Federation presence there, the more likely that they’ll swallow a magic pill to end the war?”

“Captain,” ch’Vralla droned, abandoning their agreement for less formality and letting his long lashes fall. “I have lived among these people myself for months. I’ve made friends, forged important relationships. I’ve promised them that this time would be different, that when we sat around the negotiating table, it wouldn’t be ten immaculately dressed people using big words and confusing statements.”

“Then let it be seven crewmembers from the Enterprise, dressed in regular Starfleet attire and speaking clearly,” Jim countered.

A heavy sigh preceded ch’Vralla’s response and he pushed his spine against the back of his chair. “The strength is in fewer numbers. Now, if that was something Admiral Komack failed to tell you, you have my apologies. After decades of—”

“—Federation _scheming and lying_ , they don’t trust us…yes, I’m aware by this point,” Jim finished for him. His relaxed his muscles and closed his eyes for a beat. Arguing among themselves would get them nowhere, especially when there was such little time left, so Jim decided on a different approach to diffuse the situation.

“Ambassador, I was sent here to do a job and I’m going to do it.” He shook his head as he placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “We’re not your enemies. However, you have to understand that what you’re asking goes against every protocol, and we can’t just ignore regulations that protect us.”

“Allow me to put it this way,” ch’Vralla said, his tone becoming cool. “They won’t sign the treaty if anyone other than you or Commander Spock beams down.”

“But _why_?” Jim pressed.

“Because,” ch’Vralla’s snapped, but caught himself immediately after. He inhaled and then let his shoulders drop, starting again in a calmer voice. “Because I promised them. I promised them that someone who knew their pain as I do would meet with them. They’re done with having to justify themselves for support that’ll never come.”

_Now_ they were getting somewhere. Jim nodded slowly and pulled his lips in as his eyes landed on an obscure downward point before raising back up. “Is there anything else I should know, Ambassador?”

“The war needs to end.” His words were spoken quietly but carried weight. “I’ve been at this profession for over twenty years. That’s nothing compared to the experience of other ambassadors such as Sarek, but it’s enough to have seen a lot of bad things in my time. Yet this?” A purple tongue slipped out to wet blue lips. “This is unlike anything I've experienced firsthand, even in my worst nightmare. But you understand, don't you? And that's why—”

“All right. Let's get on the same page," Jim said. "Do you have the list of the new items you want to propose so I can review them?”

“It’s already here,” ch’Vralla replied, tapping the messenger bag on the chair next to him. He reached in and withdrew his PADD.

“Forward that to me please. Also, I’d appreciate if you could review the detailed schedule for tomorrow that’s been uploaded to the intel net—ensure there’ve been no changes.”

“Very well,” ch’Vralla agreed.

“In the meantime, I recommend we take a short break at this point so I can review that. We can reconvene for dinner," Jim said. "I had VIP guest quarters arranged for you. They’re very comfortable. If you’d like to spend some time there…”

“Actually, Captain…” ch’Vralla tilted his head back. “I would like to take this opportunity to speak further with Commander Spock.” He raised his brows. “Provided that you weren’t planning to meet privately during the break, of course.”

Spock’s gaze found Jim’s and after a moment of thought, Jim nodded. “No, Ambassador, that wasn’t what I had in mind. Perhaps you could review the schedule together.” He stood, a formal air about his tone. “Mister Spock, please see to it that the ambassador is comfortable. Ambassador, as for that list…”

“You’ll have it any moment now,” ch’Vralla said, placing his device down on the table.

“Thank you. I’ll be back in an hour.”

As Jim made his way toward the door, ch’Vralla’s voice stopped him mid-step. “Oh, and captain?” Jim turned to find himself being sized up by eyes narrowed in a slight squint. “I apologize if I’ve upset you. It wasn’t my intention.”

Jim offered no reply other than keeping his attention locked on the ambassador for several moments thereafter, and finally stalked into the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading!
> 
> Many, many thanks to:  
> \- [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix) for betaing so much in so little time  
> \- [doublestuffwhoreo](http://doublestuffwhoreo.tumblr.com), [Raven_Knight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenKnight), [Sevik](https://doctor-sevik.tumblr.com/), and [vgersix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix) for being there for me when the going got rough on multiple occasions  
> \- [Johix](http://johix.tumblr.com) for the lovely art  
> \- You, for reading!! <3 (And being so patient if you've been waiting. Thank you, thank you <3)
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
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> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A captain's intuition is seldom ever wrong.

**.*Chapter 11*.**

“ _What?!_ ” The roughness in Komack’s voice matched his haggard striped pajamas. “Why are we even having this conversation?!”

Beneath the desk, Jim’s fists clenched.

“Yes, reopening the route is a dire matter. As someone who sometimes transports medicine and sustenance to planets in need, _no one_ understands that more than I do,” Jim insisted, resisting the urge to raise his voice as his frustration mounted. He’d known this attempt would be a long shot, but he owed it to his crew and himself to try. It didn’t make the predicted outcome any less infuriating.

“Admiral, let me reassure you. I understand perfectly why we need to stabilize this conflict immediately, but my confidence in the state of the current situation is not high. Are you aware Ambassador ch’Vralla specifically requested the Enterprise because of stories he’s heard about my command structure? Are you aware the treaty document he sent to us is only a draft and that he’s planning to make further demands? Are you aware—”

Komack’s face tightened, its creases deepened by the light of his PADD while the darkness of his bedroom surrounded him. “All right, Kirk, All ri—”

“—that he’s promised to the negotiation party that only my first officer and I would beam down alone, unarmed? Because I didn’t know _any_ of this until I spoke with him just now.”

“Look.” Komack leaned in a little closer. “I don’t care if you need to go to that planet naked to get the trade route back open. That’s the priority. Everything else comes after.”

“Even ensuring the safety of two essential personnel serving aboard the flagship of the fleet,” Jim said, nodding stiffly. “I see.”

“Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion?” Komack asked. “The mission proposal, the regular reports that came in…they all indicate these people want to deal with less Federation representatives. And so far, that’s been working better than anything else we’ve ever tried. We _do_ have a working agreement now, after all.” He cocked his head. “Besides, ch’Vralla’s been there for months on his own and he’s still alive, isn’t he? He’s been communicating with us on time, doing everything he’s supposed to—everything he promised.”

A pursing of the lips was all Komack received.

“And furthermore, you and I both know these documents are never official until they’re signed. And in a case like this? I was expecting complications. So, if he’s identified some last minute things to append, then it is what it is. Do you have the list of what he’s going to ask for?”

Jim rattled off the newly proposed items relating to a minor increase in humanitarian aid and defense that, in his opinion, weren't as detailed as they should have been. They hadn't been large enough factors to warrant ch'Vralla highlighting as points requiring further negotiation. Of course, no treaty was ever set in stone until it was signed, and the terms were always subject to change before all the signatures were in place. But to even bring these up at all after years of ambassadorial experience, when ch'Vralla certainly knew the Federation would comply... By the ' _so what?_ ’ expression on Komack's face, he clearly agreed they were trivial. However, that look only meant Jim's concerns were still falling on ears intent on not hearing him. “Permission to speak freely?”

Komack’s chest pushed out as he inhaled deeply. His head bobbed in agreement.

Jim folded his hands upon his desk. “Ambassador ch’Vralla seems to have a conflict of interest in this affair.”

“That’s a pretty damn heavy accusation. I hope you have something back it.”

“ _Tarsus IV on a planetary scale_ is how he described Gantir to me, just after revealing that his mother was a victim of the massacre…and how that, in turn, destroyed his family. He's aware of my history there, and also had ties to Ambassador Sarek—my first officer’s father, as you know. They had a major falling out from fighting for ownership of this mission. ch'Vralla made no attempt to conceal that it was us that he specifically requested after what happened to the Lexington. In fact, if he hadn't said that, I would've never known. Doesn't that strike you at all as strange?”

Komack turned his head to the side and scratched at a point behind his ear. Unamused, his brows raised and his lips pulled in tightly. “Nothing has _ever_ indicated to me that he’s unqualified for this mission. His reports have been consistent. Hell, he wound up in my office unexpectedly one day with a peace plan that impressed me more than any other did. That's why I put him in charge.”

Jim’s face remained stone-like as he bit his tongue. It was inevitable. What more could he have expected from someone who was satisfied with sitting behind a comfortable desk all day? What worried Komack the most was his own reputation.

“So, he was a good ambassador and did his research about you, then added a little anecdote about his past. So, he’s got bad blood with Sarek because _his_ plan was accepted over someone who’s been around the bend four times as much. The point here is that ch’Vralla convinced me he was the one for the job and some conjecture or minor details dropped in a colloquial setting isn’t enough to sway my opinion.”

“And the issue of only Commander Spock and I beaming down through an encrypted transporter spectrum with no other support or security detail?” Jim asked.

“Written permission to bend the diplomacy protocols will be there in six hours,” Komack replied. At the change in Jim’s expression, his tone lowered. “What? Did you have something else in mind?”

“If you want my recommendation, Admiral, delay the signing and send a second diplomatic party to ensure everything is being done by the book.”

Komack guffawed. “Out of the question! Is that a joke?! Are you aware how long the Federation has been trying to end this conflict, how much has been invested in the effort?”

“Yes, I am.” Jim’s jaw tightened. “But are _you_ aware that this is a matter of protecting the lives of two crucial, high-ranking officers? ch’Vralla had nothing against coming here alone and once your approval was given, it was his prerogative. I’m telling you now that I’ve identified things that are unsettling, holes and new components in his story that I find significant enough to potentially compromise the mission.”

“File a claim, then,” Komack snapped. “Appeal it if you want. But I’m letting you know here and now that some paranoid gut feeling and ruffled feathers isn’t conclusive evidence to delay signing that treaty. Nogura’s been promised a swift conclusion, which means the Federation has been, too. So either get it done or ship out with a different ass in that captain’s chair. Your choice.”

Jim’s toes curled in his boots. “Understood, Admiral. I’ll point out that it’s my duty as captain to alert my superiors to all perceived dangers related to a mission, as stated in Starfleet regulation command section five article one point three.”

“Your fitness for command isn’t up for debate, Kirk.” Komack waved his hand, then reached for a stylus off to the side and fidgeted with it. “You _do_ understand how difficult a position I’m in here too? I’m the one who’s been there to orchestrate the handling of this whole debacle right from the beginning, and people are counting on that. We have the power to end it now, so it’s time to end it. Anything further?”

“No, Sir,” Jim replied dismissively.

“Good. Keep it that way. Do whatever you have to do to get this done. I am hereby granting you oral permission to ignore the regulation requiring a minimum number of representatives present for planet-side diplomacy. I’m adding written consent to the mission file the moment we disconnect and will have the update pushed through the intel net immediately after. Komack out.”

It was a fitting conclusion. The holographic screen went dark, leaving Jim unblinking and staring at nothing across his quarters. He turned his face, swiveled in his chair, and got to his feet; without a moment more of thought, they carried him out the door in long determined strides.

“ _A man’s a man, for a’ that!_ ”

Low singing of no particular talent echoed from beneath a console in engineering. Jim pressed his hands to the top of the station and peered over, seeing only a pair of legs supported by a levitating stretcher. He winced. “Scotty?”

“ _For a’ that, an’ a’ that, our toils obscure an’ a’ that_ —”

“ _Scotty_!” Jim hissed.

The legs jolted and a hand slammed against the front edge of the console, shoving the stretcher backward and revealing Scotty lying on his back with a hyperspanner in his grasp. “Sir!” His palm planted against the floor and he shoved himself to his feet. “Sorry about that, Captain! Was fiddling about with the circuitry on this one.” He tilted his head. “Been on the fritz lately.”

“…Right.” Jim nodded slowly and quickly changed the topic. “Your schedule for the next few hours is still filled with repairs, yes?”

Scotty rotated his right shoulder and smiled. “Aye, Sir. That’s the plan. Me and the silver lass have a nice, long date ahead of us.”

“Listen, I don’t have much time to talk this out, but…” Jim’s eyes wandered across the large open space of engineering, and he held his hand out to a small side room. When the door swished closed behind them, Jim crossed his arms, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and then breathed out. “I need you to do something for me.”

“I’d be willing, if you’d just say what.”

“I’m interested in the security integrity of Gantir’s encrypted transporter band,” Jim specified. “Did you run a spectral analysis?”

“Sure, Sir,” Scotty replied. “I scanned it while we were waiting for the ambassador earlier—nothing I haven’t seen before. It’d take some time but the encryption could be hacked by using one of the quantum computers. It’s like my old security professor always said, any lock can be picked if you’ve got the right tool.”

“However, the keys to the castle change very quickly once they’re used,” Jim added. “That lock’s open for only a few seconds before it needs to be picked again.”

“Right. It’s not enough time to run a useful sensor sweep, but it’s enough to beam someone in if we knew the coordinates. As for beaming out…well, it’d be impossible to get a lock.”

Jim uncrossed his arms and took his chin between his pointer finger and thumb. He stroked it as his gaze fell thoughtfully and then murmured, “Unless we use the secret tunnel.”

Scotty blinked. “Sir?”

“So, I’ve been thinking.” Jim hands fell to his hips as his eyes snapped back to Scotty. “The prototype combadges you built with site-to-site transport capabilities. Do you still have them?”

“Ah, from the project Command shelved for the meantime?” Scotty’s eyes dropped. “Aye, I have them, all ten of them.”

“Any chance you’d be able to modify a few of them to work on a completely different frequency outside of Gantir’s protected band? Communicators won’t reliably operate in that hazy area of subspace but if I recall the specs correctly, I don’t see why your combadges couldn’t.”

“…And thus bypassing the whole protected spectrum altogether.” With his head tilted back, Scotty’s mouth remained slightly parted. He tapped the hyperspanner against his opposite palm several times in consideration. “I can’t see why it wouldn’t work, Captain…the combadge was designed to be flexible enough to work where a communicator can’t. However, scanning is definitely a no-go outside of the normal range…haven’t figured out how to entirely preserve data integrity once we triangulate a sweep.”

Jim licked his lips and glanced to the floor for a beat. “But what if we could establish the lock up here on the badges and then just maintain it? Could you still keep the fix on our position once we transport down normally?”

“We’d have to have a technician monitoring the signal at all times.” Scotty blew out a breath. “And I wouldn’t guarantee it without testing, but I believe there’s a high probability it could work, Sir.”

“That means it will.” Jim gently hit Scotty’s bicep. “Get to it, Scotty. How long will it take?”

“Ah, about four full ship’s days.” A grin and shrug followed. “But since you don’t have that kind of time, I’ll do it for you in three hours.”

Pressing his palms together before him, Jim closed his eyes and tipped his head forward. The _please_ and _thank you_ were wrapped up entirely in that gesture, and Scotty replied with an old fashioned salute.

There was an unofficial tactic Jim had learned at the academy called _sleeping with the enemy_ , and while the present company didn’t exactly fit the description of foe, he certainly didn’t feel like a friend either. A veneer of companionship, unity, and rapport was essential to establish, nonetheless.

“To our success.”

_Clink_! Flute glasses touched over an impressive presentation of fancy dishes, filled with color and aroma. ch’Vralla brought the rim to his lips and peered at Jim while sipping. As he swallowed, he pulled his hand back and identified the pearly effervescent alcohol. “Champagne.”

Jim exhaled as a melody of fruit with hints of cocoa washed over his palate. “You know, an old friend of mine gave this bottle to me when I was promoted to captain.” He smiled. “It also came with a little caveat…something about how it’s been aged since 2250 and that I better damn well drink it for a special occasion.”

The corners of ch’Vralla’s lips twitched and then pulled out into his cheeks. His long lashes fell and he playfully scoffed. “Flatter me not, Captain.”

“Flattery?” Jim raised his eyebrows. “Not at all. Ambassador…” He placed his glass down with a small tap and then seriousness overcame him. “We got off to a bit of a shaky start earlier. I hope that’s something each of us can pardon.”

ch’Vralla held his hand up. “Please. I understand why you had your reservations. I’d have them too if I suddenly felt uncertain about the information I was given—especially on the eve of a key diplomatic event. But since we’ve confirmed the schedule and everyone is on the same page now…” He tilted his head to the side. “As they say, it’s all microbes under the warp trail.”

Jim motioned toward the heaping plates on the table.

“Though I do appreciate the gesture.” ch’Vralla began ladling plomeek soup a la Andorian style into a small bowl. “Sometimes, my passions get the best of me. Diplomacy is my profession, don’t get me wrong. But when I don’t _need_ to be diplomatic, I’m aware that I can be overbearing and at times, much too blunt.”

Jim stirred the dish of fragrant pink flower petals (a delicacy from one of the planets in the Antares system) and then helped himself to a serving. He reached for the soup next and spooned some into a small bowl. “Actually, I found your motivation for becoming an ambassador and your fervor for it inspiring…”

A habitual impulse welled within Jim to put the bowl before Spock, leaving him to awkwardly pause as he trailed off; he’d become used to doing little things like that without even thinking, and now that he knew he shouldn’t do them anymore, it made him stumble. Jim recovered within a second. He immediately placed the soup in front of his own plate, and left the ladle facing Spock’s direction. “…Though I wonder how you keep the personal feelings out of your work,” he finally concluded.

While ch’Vralla hadn’t seemed troubled by that statement, he lifted his chin and looked at Jim. “It can be difficult depending on the situation. Though, that’s just part of the job description.” Jim picked up the small teapot and topped off Spock’s cup. _That much_ he could do, when it was all part of being an attentive dinner host. When he turned back to ch’Vralla, he found himself being watched. “…But I suppose it’s true for any profession, wouldn’t you say?”

Jim nodded, reached for the champagne, and filled ch’Vralla’s glass again. “That’s what I was leading into. The Prime Directive governs everything, but sometimes those rules and personal morals conflict. Ultimately, it’s up to each of us to follow the charter we’ve been given.” He then casually took a scoop of seasoned Rigelian seaweed. “I know I’ve wrestled with my own dilemmas regarding that. I imagine it’s much worse for you.”

“Ah.” ch’Vralla drummed his fingertips on the table with his free hand. “Well, like you in Starfleet, we train extensively to put our feelings aside. I suppose Commander Spock would appreciate that.”

Spock simply raised an eyebrow.

“In fact…” ch’Vralla moved the spoon about his bowl. “I have to wonder if we’re really all that different. After all, I can’t imagine that you’d idly stand by and watch something tragic happen to your second in command.”

Jim’s fork was on its way up when it stopped and lowered. His eyes remained locked with ch’Vralla’s for several moments until a smile split the ambassador’s face once again. “It was a figure of speech, of course, but insensitive of me all the same. Ah, let’s put it this way.” Without diverting his attention, ch’Vralla reached for his glass and ran a finger down the stem. “Let’s say it was someone you love. Their life is threatened and you could prevent them from suffering. What would you do about that, Captain?”

With a pursing of the lips and shaking of his head, the answer was present before it was vocalized. “Adhere to the Prime Directive.”

“What if it were a family member?”

Jim tilted both hands back until each far knuckle touched the table, indicating his answer would be the same.

“So, you really do believe in personal sacrifice for the greater good. Let me ask you this, then. I don’t mean to get—” ch’Vralla cleared his throat. “—overly personal, especially since you weren’t keen on being on a first name basis. However, when I reviewed your personnel file, I noticed neither of you have any dependents listed.” Dark eyes remained locked on Jim. “Do you have an intended, any children?”

Jim held his stare and replied, “No.”

“Well, given my understanding of Vulcan culture, surely you have a betrothed, Commander Spock.”

“At this time, I do not.”

If Jim had allowed himself to turn his head to Spock at that moment as he felt compelled to, he would’ve gotten whiplash. However, he focused entirely on ch’Vralla and slowly blinked, swallowing the upheaval of confusion and hope that Spock’s answer had surged within him.

“Huh. Interesting. Siblings, then?"

The reply from both Jim and Spock was given by a shaking of the head.

"Well, perhaps you can’t relate to what I’m saying, then. As for me, my own dependents are neither spouses nor children. But regarding the family trouble I mentioned earlier…” ch’Vralla swallowed and sucked his teeth. “My brother and I were once the best of friends, but he’s been missing for many years. Without my knowledge, he sold himself to an Orion slaver to pay off the massive debt we’d accrued. Of course, with no middleperson to mind the—” A wince. “— _transaction_ , they just took him and that was the end of that.”

“I’m…” Jim’s face softened. “…sorry.” He reached for his champagne. “That’s very difficult to hear.”

“It hurts. Honestly, if getting out of a financial hole meant such suffering for him, I would’ve been willing to drown in it forever. The saddest part of all is that he needn’t have done what he did.” ch’Vralla poked his fork at two chunks of purple potatoes and lowered his voice to just above a murmur. “Even now, I still haven’t given up hope of finding him.”

“Do you have any leads to his whereabouts?” Spock asked.

“Some,” ch’Vralla answered. “I’m waiting to see if that information is actually worth anything, though.”

Jim hummed and looked up from his plate. “I’m sure you’ve already long ago enlisted him in the missing persons database but if, um…” He licked his lips. “If you’d like to give us his name, his profile…we don’t run into many Orions, but it won’t hurt to keep our eyes open.”

ch’Vralla took the glass stem between his fingers once more and began to roll it between them. His eyes pulled from Jim’s. “I really appreciate that, Captain. Once this whole crisis is behind us, I just might take you up on your offer.” A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he picked up his fork.

“You know,” Jim said in a casual tone. “It might be worth sharing his information with Commodore Wesley as well. It’s a real shame, what happened to the Lexington.”

“It is,” ch’Vralla replied, lifting his bowl and drinking directly from it.

“I mean, can you imagine? If those pirates hadn’t attacked her, there might’ve already been peace on Gantir and we’d be hailing you a hero.”

ch’Vralla lowered the soup and his expression hardened; however, when he looked up, Jim made sure he saw nothing more than a friendly smile. “Tomorrow, Ambassador.”

Blue lips twitched and the harsh lines on ch’Vralla’s face faded. “Tomorrow, Captain.” He reached for his glass and tapped it against Jim’s. “But only with your help.”

The meal continued from there with surprisingly companionable conversation, but that was only because the three sitting at that table were excellent actors—and each of them knew it.

“And…here we are.” Jim stepped forward to trigger the opening of the door. As the lights automatically brightened, he held his hand out to invite ch’Vralla into the guest quarters.

The ambassador entered, looked around, and then pivoted on his heels to face Jim and Spock standing in the corridor. He wore a satisfied smile. “Yes, this will do perfectly. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Jim nodded. “It’s my pleasure. We’ll meet in the transporter room tomorrow morning at 0950. A crewmember will arrive five minutes prior to escort you.”

“That would be agreeable.”

“And you already know how to work the synthesizer, right?”

ch’Vralla chuckled. “Captain, I might be an ambassador but I’m not entirely technically inept.” His lashes fell for but a moment as he dipped his chin. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Just making sure. If there’s anything you need, feel free to comm Yeoman Barrows or me. Good night.”

“Good night, Ambassador,” Spock echoed.

“Until the morning, gentlemen,” ch’Vralla replied; he stood in the same place, making no move to shrug off his jacket or bag. An awkward silence persisted until Jim finally nodded and stepped back from the entrance; his eyes remained locked on the ambassador until the door closed.

“Spock,” Jim said quietly, keeping his attention forward for a moment before he turned his head to find Spock looking at him and waiting for what he would say next. The tension between them was palpable and uncomfortable, like the poles of two magnets repelling each other. Despite that, there was a job to do.

Jim cocked his head toward the lift and they both walked onto the platform in silence. When the doors closed, Jim pulled the lever. “Deck five.” He kept his attention anywhere but on Spock as he swallowed and cleared his throat. “We need to have a discussion.”

When he saw no movement out of the corner of his eye and received no response, Jim finally turned. “About the mission,” he clarified.

“Of course.”

The chime rang and the doors split. Jim strode into the first conference room on the right, leaving Spock to enter in tow. A change in scenery was certainly appropriate at this moment. They’d always had their pre-mission discussions in either of their quarters, where the atmosphere was relaxed and they had the liberty of simply being themselves.

Now, Jim had no idea where they stood personally—but their professional relationship was as clear as the first day they met. In the eyes of Starfleet and their crew, they were captain and first officer. Jim gave the orders, Spock carried them out, and that was all that mattered in the short term. In a way, this mission was a test for Jim to reaffirm that they still had what it took to have the privilege of running this ship together, no matter what happened behind the scenes.

He was confident they did as he held a hand out to a chair, and then walked to sit down on the opposite side of the table. “Please sit. Computer, engage privacy lock.”

Once Spock sat, his lips parted but Jim beat him to the chase, intent on staying in full control.

“I don’t trust him. And I don’t think you do you either.” It was the first thing of substance they’d said privately to each other since the breakup.

Spock shook his head. “I do not.”

Jim pushed his lips forward and let his eyes fall to his hands folded neatly on the desk. “I tried contacting Komack.”

“I presume it was a futile attempt.”

“It was.” Feeling an overwhelming impulse to fidget, Jim stood abruptly and put his hands on his hips. He began to pace. “I gave him my opinion of the situation, cited that the demand for only the two of us beaming down goes against protocol, offered an alternative solution. It didn’t matter. He made promises to people in high places.” Stopping himself from meandering about, Jim looked toward the far wall and tapped his fingers against his hip twice. “The mission is to go on as planned. However.”

There was quiet for a few moments before he turned to Spock. “I’m making a few changes under the radar. First, Scotty and I devised a way to circumvent the transporter security. Do you recall the combadge project he was working on?”

Spock nodded once.

“I have him reconfiguring some of the prototypes to function outside of the transporter encryption. We’ll establish a lock on them up here and theoretically, as long as we maintain that lock, we won’t lose transport or communication capabilities on the planet.”

“A wise precaution.”

“The other change of plan involves personnel.” Jim tilted his head back and then folded his hands behind him. “I want you to remain aboard the Enterprise while I handle the treaty signing.”

Spock’s brows pulled inward and their eyes finally met. “You intend to meet with them alone?”

Jim’s chin fell with a stiff nod. “Komack may not be interested in listening to my concerns, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ignore them too. Going into a dubious situation unarmed and without a full team is an unnecessary risk. As captain, I have orders. I have to follow them. But I also have the responsibility of that title and the luxury of prerogative to go with it. I’m invoking that to spare your involvement.”

“Captain.” Spock swallowed and got to his feet. “If this is—”

“It’s not,” Jim snapped, turning away. He hadn’t known what Spock had intended to say but if it was even remotely related to their feelings for each other, it was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Now was not the time. This mission was the primary focus and Jim couldn’t allow anything to compromise that. “ch’Vralla said they wouldn’t accept anyone’s presence beside yours or mine. The key word there is _or_. So, I’ll be the one to go. I need you to remain here and look after the crew while I’m planet-side.”

“It is an even greater unnecessary risk for you to approach this situation alone,” Spock rebutted. “You, as captain, are irreplaceable. Anyone else on this crew, including myself, is not.”

Jim huffed, the inner ends of his brows rising and his mouth twitching. Sarcasm welled within him but he swallowed hard to keep himself from replying inappropriately to that remark.

“I see no logic in your plan to justify attending this conference alone. The protocol mandates at least five members must be present to ensure safety and order. I recommend—”

“You have your orders, Commander,” Jim interjected. “You’re to manage the situation from orbit. Unless there’s anything further…”

Spock stood still for several moments with his hands clasped behind his back. Finally, he tilted his head back and let his gaze drift to the side. “No, Sir. There is not.”

“Dismissed. Computer, disengage privacy lock.”

Only Jim’s eyes moved as he watched Spock wordlessly turn and take his leave. There. That wasn’t so hard, after all. It was a bit cold and definitely lacked the figurative and literal personal touch which had frequently accompanied such meetings in the past, but the plan was clear.

Jim’s fingers drummed in succession twice behind him and he pushed his chest out.

It made sense to have Spock remain on the ship.

It had nothing to do with overprotectiveness.

It had nothing to do with love.

It was…logical. Practical. Smart.

Jim stared at himself in the small mirror for so long that his eyes shifted out of focus, leaving him unsure of what he was looking for or why. Perhaps it was to convince himself of the things he’d just silently insisted upon.

Clearing his throat, he broke away from his reflection and dropped his gaze to the new combadge sitting on the shelf, among other accessories beneath the mirror. Fortunately, the badge attached via magnet and would fit perfectly over the embroidered patch of the gold tunic he’d donned this morning.

Wearing standard regulation attire instead of formal wear was a conscious decision. If the Gantirian people preferred their visitors in clothing that wasn’t luxurious and harbored deep distrust for Starfleet diplomats, Jim would approach them as a starship captain and friend. The lack of flair could speak for itself upon their first meeting, and he hoped it would be enough to get everything off to a positive start.

Jim attached the combadge to his uniform, pulled his shirt down to flatten it, and finally took his leave.

It was a brisk stride to the lift and a few more steps to the transporter room. Of course, there was method to the madness of going into this situation alone, but to say that he was comfortable with it was an overstatement. In any case, as captain, Jim had to do what was necessary to ensure the safety of his crew and his ship. Playing along this way would accomplish that…and also protect Spock, as he _was_ the first officer.

Logical. Practical. Smart.

Nothing to do with overprotectiveness. Nothing to do with love. All business here.

Jim pushed his shoulders back and bowed in thought as he stepped before the door to the transporter room. It swished open and when he lifted his head, he stopped mid-step. Falling back on his heels, he quickly looked from Spock to the transporter control operator, and then back to Spock.

“Captain.” The greeting was plainly spoken.

Jim’s brows pulled inward. “Good…morning, Commander.” He then acknowledged the woman behind the console. “Lieutenant Ally.”

“Good morning, Sir,” she replied.

Jim strode forward, holding his hand out to the far side of the room. In silence, he and Spock moved to that place and both faced the wall, each with his hands tightly clasped behind him.

“What are you doing here?” Jim demanded beneath his breath, sternness painting his words. He partially turned his face and his eyes fell to a matching combadge affixed to Spock’s tunic. “My orders were clear, Spock. You’re not beaming down.”

“Pardon me, Captain,” Spock replied just as quietly, keeping his attention forward. “But your orders were that I will not be attending the conference. You did not mention that I was forbidden from visiting the planet.”

Jim’s hands squeezed until his knuckles ached. “What is the point of that?” he asked through his teeth.

“It is my duty to verify that you are transporting into a safe location.”

Jim softly scoffed and finally pivoted, letting his body language speak louder than his voice could. He had to get Spock out of here before ch’Vralla showed up. They still had a minute or so for him to slip out unnoticed. “Okay. I’m revising my orders, here and now. You’re not to—”

The door swished open, prompting each to quickly turn and find ch’Vralla floating into the room.

“Yes, thank you," ch'Vralla waved at the ensign who had escorted him. "Good morning, Captain!” He smiled and nodded at Spock. “Commander.”

“Good morning, Ambassador,” Jim bade, immediately falling back into the role of gracious host. “I trust you’ve slept well?”

“I can’t tell you what a delight it was to sleep on a mattress so comfortable.” ch’Vralla rolled his shoulders. “The bed I have in my quarters on the planet is a bit too hard for my tastes. And you? I hope you weren’t awake all night thinking about today?”

Jim shook his head and lied. “Not at all.”

“Well!” ch’Vralla held his hands out. “I’m pleased we’re all here early. Perhaps we should beam down then?”

Keeping his irritation hidden, Jim nodded. “Very well.” He couldn’t risk showing disagreement between Spock and himself at this moment, especially not in front of present company. “But first, I should tell you about the new protocol.”

ch’Vralla cocked his head. “New protocol?”

“Yes, you’ve been out of the loop for a few months, Ambassador,” Jim announced, walking to the transporter console and picking up the small combadge resting on it. “I’m sure you’ll be delighted to know that there’s been a minor update to Federation away mission attire.” He held the adornment between his thumb and pointer finger, then extended his hand in ch’Vralla’s direction.

A small huff was the response as ch’Vralla accepted it. “And this is?”

“A very, _very_ important piece of Starfleet property,” Jim said mockingly. “It’s so we can easily identify who’s on our side.”

ch’Vralla studied the combadge before his eyes raised to Jim again. When Jim’s lips eased into a smile, he grinned and chuckled. “Incredible. Of all the things Starfleet could work on improving, distributing little stick-on badges was the most important?”

“Believe me. I’ve shared that opinion,” Jim jovially replied, playing along and grateful ch'Vralla was buying into that story. “And it’s a magnet. No worries about pricking yourself or anything.”

ch’Vralla hummed and affixed the badge to his jacket. “Well, now that we’re all _properly dressed_ …shall we?”

“We shall,” Jim agreed and all three stepped onto the platform. “Lieutenant Ally, establish communication and let them know we’re ready to beam down.”

“Aye, Sir,” she replied. Her hands danced over the console for several seconds longer than usual. “Communication established with liaison outside of the protected area. Now waiting for three-way handshake to begin.”

Jim shook his hair out while several seconds passed as they waited.

“Three-way handshake engaged. Ready to transport at your command, Sir,” Ally announced. As instructed, she also gave a nod to Jim to covertly indicate the secondary locks were also established.

“Energize.”

The familiar grays and reds of the transporter room faded into a veil of sparkling glitter, and when Jim rematerialized, the first thing he saw was a massive dark green fist swinging at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much reading! I self-betaed this chapter. Apologies for any mistakes I might've missed.
> 
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> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


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